


White Noise

by blackberrysilk



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Becomes AU after chapter 8, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Follows Season 3, Language Barrier, Mild Language, Reader Has Powers, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, we’re going off road with this one guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-08-10 09:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20133418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrysilk/pseuds/blackberrysilk
Summary: Twice a gate between dimensions has been opened, and twice they have been closed. When it happens a third time, you’re recruited by Joyce and joined by a very exasperated Chief Hopper to figure out just how and why it’s happening.After the past incidents in Hawkins being borne within the lab long locked up and abandoned, you hardly expect to uncover and expose a diabolical plot set into motion by a shadowy and hostile foreign group that has infiltrated the town.What you expect even less is to fall in love with the enemy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is gonna be pretty AU after a certain point because I cannot accept what happened to our boy 😔 This first chapter is a lot of exposition, just setting the stage for what’s to come ✌🏽

If you were to be asked who you are at this very moment, who you were born to be, the only answer you could give with absolute certainty is your own name. You managed to escape with that much. As for the rest, you can no longer say with confidence that any of it is your own, or if it was stolen from what you once so desperately wished to be. What you were told to want. Conditioned to accept. You're not just a number anymore. 

Joyce often tells you it’s okay to feel doubt, okay to feel fear, and that trauma doesn’t just go away, it echoes, and can come back around in the strangest ways when you least expect it and send you spiraling all over again. Even though it’s been over six months since your last episode—most recently triggered by a violent nightmare—she continues to remind you, leaving a space open for discussion if you need it. 

Although you can breathe a little easier now without constantly looking over your shoulder with worry and dread that the Hawkins Lab’s cruel scientists are still hunting you and your sister down, most days you still find yourself waking up with your drowsy brain immediately going through the routine you’d grown so accustomed to in preparation for another grueling day of exercises, procedures, tests, and trials. And then there were the experiments. Those sometimes took days at a time to complete. 

The extent of your abilities were quite thoroughly explored. Enhanced regeneration is a passive ability, much unlike El’s telekinesis and telepathy, and Brenner—you were quick and eager to drop the far too familiar “Papa” that those raised in the lab were encouraged to refer to him as—was far too curious to see what you were capable of. Enough to kill you. Twice. 

The first time you died was an accident; an apparent electrical failure, but you still believe it was arranged to test your durability against an electrical assault. Your chair was metal. A main water pipe burst, flooding the floor. They didn’t shut off the electricity fast enough. You don’t remember it, honestly. One second you were awaiting instructions, and the next you were lying in your bed, as if you had simply blinked and transported there. It wasn’t until you were told that your heart had stopped for several minutes that you realized what had been done to you. 

The second time you died was a little more thorough, in both intent and imposition. Branner was curious about your regrowth capability. Sure, you could seal up any lesion, repair torn ligaments and mend broken bones; contusions, abrasions, or even blemishes were easily erased. Not to mention you never got sick, but what was never explored until then was whether or not you were able to regrow entire pieces as quickly as any other wound. Organs, bones, nails, limbs, they were removed until what was left gave up. The only way you survived, you were later told, is because your sisters helped bring you back once the bits and pieces were replaced. Well, most of them anyway. 

A part of you isn’t really you anymore. When being put back together, Branner found it pertinent to keep a piece to study. So, while he kept an eye, you got a bionic optical replacement that’s a few shades off from your original color, giving you the appearance of one with heterochromia. You were assured that it’s one of the most technologically advanced artificial restorative devices on the planet, and intended to look and function completely like the original. But it wasn’t yours. And you  _hated_ it for a long time. 

So you’re not 100% invulnerable. You’re not even immortal as far as you can tell. Then again, you’re not that old, so there’s still time to figure that one out. As far as you know, the lab never quite got around to researching your longevity. They were too interested in possibly creating a serum to distribute your ability amongst others—namely, soldiers. Thankfully they never managed to unlock that Pandora’s box. Whatever research they took when the lab was shut down is all they’ll ever have. 

You’re done being a lab rat. Done being an experiment; a victim of their greedy curiosity. The scars may remain inside your memories rather than upon your body, engraved like stains in your brain, but you refuse to let them take a single inch more of you. 

*******

Summer in Hawkins is pretty much just like every other season of the year, with a few big exceptions: it’s hot and sticky, it stays lighter outside for longer, and kids are running wild everywhere at nearly all hours. With the sun taking its rest beyond the horizon at a much later hour, and without the pressure and obligation of school the next day, school-aged children spend their time playing and hanging out with each other or, for the older kids, maybe taking on a summer job. 

Such is the case for Jonathan Byers. He and Nancy Wheeler have taken part-time positions with the local paper. The boy is very talented with a camera, and even though you aren’t knowledgeable about photography, you’re certain to remind him of that when you can. He’s gifted you with several prints of pictures he’s taken, all of which you have hung around your room. 

It’s these photos you find yourself staring at as you button up your blouse, preparing for your shift at your own administrative job at the local police station. It’s a pretty easy job, organize files and boxes of evidence, occasionally pick up lunch for everyone. It keeps you busy while not having to interact with many people, and that’s exactly why you enjoy it. Chief Hopper was a huge help in getting you the position. It’s only part-time for now, seeing as you have no former work experience, but the pay is decent and gives you the chance to build valuable skills. Everything that Hopper and Joyce have done for you and El is more than you’re capable of repaying. But you try anyway through effort, and not taking the opportunities you’ve been given for granted. 

Amid everything that you and El have been through, after the sacrifices that have been made by those closest to you both, the losses that have shaken the entire town, being able to settle has been a privilege you never considered you’d be offered. Every day it feels like it will all be ripped away at a moments notice. After everyone believed that El was lost a couple years back, killed along with the demogorgon, Joyce offered to let you live with her family. Despite being the kindest person you’d ever met, you had strong reservations about whether you were deserving and if it would only be short-term. But here you are, nearly two years later, and after discovering that El is very much alive and has made a home with Chief Hopper, followed by a whole other mess from another dimensional tear, you’ve had the chance to build something of a life for yourself. And, for the most part, it’s been nice. The simplicity has made it easier to adjust, and Joyce, Jonathan, and Will have been so welcoming. Everyone has. Maybe it took a little longer for you to accept it because your usefulness isn’t quite as evident as El’s, but they don’t treat you any differently than anyone else, and that means more than they could possibly know. 

Turning to the mirror above your dresser, you braid half of your hair up in a messy crown, quickly pushing in a few bobby pins to secure it. It’s grown so long since you last had it cut, now hanging to your lower back. Unlike El, you weren’t expected to constantly keep your hair buzzed, though you did receive regular trims to provide the lab with ample samples of your DNA. The last time anyone had gone near it with a pair of shears was the day before you and El escaped the lab, and it was at your lower shoulder blades. You haven’t touched it since, and you figure no one will until it becomes a hindrance to you and you alone. 

The same can be said of your wardrobe. After practically living in a hospital gown for fifteen years, you haven’t been too eager to wear anything other than pants. The coral ankle-length high-rise trousers are comfortable but reasonable enough for a professional setting, and the cream-colored loose ruffled blouse is light and airy which is fitting for the warm weather. You keep your shoes simple—some light brown loafers—since you tend to spend a lot of time on your feet in the archives. 

Most of your clothes are from local thrift shops and garage sales, and anything needing mending or tailoring is easily resolved with the help of Joyce’s sewing machine. You’ve grown pretty efficient with it, and soon may be able to start making your own clothes. It’s a hobby you weren’t expecting to enjoy so much. 

Grabbing your bag from your bed, you sling its straps over your shoulders and walk out and into the dining room where Joyce and Will are already eating breakfast. 

“Morning,” Joyce greets. “You hungry?”

“No time,” you say regretfully while sending a longing look at the fluffy pancakes piled on a plate on the table. “The power outage knocked out my clock. I’m already late.” You grab a piece of toast and place it in your mouth to take a bite. “This I will take though.” You smile and pat Will’s shoulder as you pass. “See you guys later.” 

You head outside to your bicycle—also thrifted. The station is only a few miles away, and though it’s hot outside, you adore the feeling that only the freedom of being outdoors can provide. The warm air gliding over you, through your hair, across your skin, is a sensation you will never grow tired of, especially after living most of your life within the constraints of suffocating walls of glass, concrete, and plaster. 

You stick to the sidewalk, only merging onto the road when there’s pedestrians. When you pull to a stop at a stoplight, you wipe the back of your hand across your forehead to dispel the beads of sweat building at your hairline. The rumble of a car slowly coming to a stop in the lane next to you doesn’t draw your attention, but the occupant’s windows are down, and they’re holding a conversation in a language that is somehow both foreign and strangely familiar, not in the words, but in the accent. 

Your gaze is inevitably drawn to the sound, to the broad intonation and heavy rolling of particular letters. Two men sit in the car, engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation. You’re stopped to their right, nearest to the passengers seat, and when the occupant turns away from their associate, he notices you beside them. 

There’s a fraction of a second where you consider ripping your gaze away, but it’s suddenly too late, and your eyes meet a pair of soft brown ones behind a pair of glasses, framed by the dark brown curls of his hair. The owner of those eyes consider you for a few moments, taking you in with the same amount of curiosity as you do him. 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a pleasantly amiable smile, and suddenly he’s gone, the car is in motion as the stoplight turns green. 

You blink, realizing a small smile has unintentionally graced your own face before pursing your lips and pedaling yourself down the road once again. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Good morning, (Y/N).” 

You return the greetings as they come, offering friendly smiles to those you pass. After clocking in, you make your way to the archives at the very end of the hall, walking inside, grateful for the coolness of the building. 

The light switch is flicked on, and the room is illuminated with fluorescence. You hang your purse on the back of the chair at your desk; the surface is already covered with piles of fresh documents to sift through and organize. With a brush of your fingers over the flyaways that have escaped during your ride here, you settle into the seat and begin alphabetizing the files.

*******

When you arrive home, you find Joyce eating alone in front of the TV. 

“Hey, you,” she greets. “How was work?”

“Same old. Just me and endless piles of paper for six hours.”

“Well, if you’re hungry there’s some leftover lasagna and peas in the fridge.” 

You take your bag off and place it on the dining room table before making yourself up a plate and joining Joyce on the couch. She switches on the television to some comedy show, and you both begin eating. 

“So, are the boys still out?” You wonder after a few bites, glancing over at her. An odd melancholy has suddenly fallen over her face as she looks at the television screen, and you put down your fork to look at her more fully. “Joyce?” You murmur. 

She seems to jolt, then looks at you with a sheepish smile. “Yes, sorry, what?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Me? Of course.” You watch her closely for a few moments before returning to your meal. “I just remember this episode.” She laughs softly.

Joyce is a wonderful person, but something she isn’t is a good liar. You can tell she’s felt lonely since Bob died last year, and more than a little guilty. Not to mention the fact that the cause of his death wasn’t exactly normal or nonviolent likely doesn’t ease her feelings. 

It’s times like these that remind you not everyone has had a life like yours. The circumstances that have led you here are nothing like what they could completely understand, but the fact that they’ve been impacted nevertheless makes you feel responsible, and even ashamed, for the consequences they’ve been burdened with. 

Joyce always coaxes you to open up to her when you need to, but who does she have? Who does she talk to when she needs to unload the weight of her experiences and the tragedy she’s been encumbered with? 

As you watch her from the corner of your eye, you’re abruptly hit with a swell of affection for the woman. She’s the first person outside of the lab that you grew to trust entirely, and the one who has garnered the most respect from you. You’re proud to call her family. 

*******

The next day is much the same as the last: you wake up, you bicycle to work, you organize files for a dozen or so hours, you bicycle home. 

Strangely though, Joyce’s car is gone when you arrive. All of the lights are off, and the front door is locked, prompting you to use your own set of keys to get inside. 

It doesn’t take long for you to realize she’s not here at all. It’s strange for her to not be home before 8 o’clock. Maybe she finally has some plans that doesn’t involve eating leftovers while watching soap operas.  Good for her , you think with a grin as you switch on the kitchen light.

You drop your bag on the table and make for the fridge to grab some dinner, only to nearly slip right onto your ass. You catch yourself against the counter with a small gasp, looking down to see a magnet lying on the floor. 

Bending to pick it up, you notice none of the other magnets are even on the fridge. They’re in a pile on the counter. Joyce must have been cleaning the fridge and just forgot to put them back. You place the magnet in your hand to the fridge and let go, only for it to slide right back to the floor with a  _clack!_

A frown purses your lips and you pick it up once more, looking it over it and instead putting it with the others. Weird. 

*******

You’re already in bed by the time Joyce comes home that night, and she’s up before you the next morning. By the sound of her flightiness, something has her worked up. You are considering just ignoring it the best you can and tucking yourself right back beneath the beckoning comfort of your blanket, but her pacing across the house is noisier than usual, and that somehow unnerves you. 

You keep an ear perked as you quickly get dressed—a pair of roomy overall shorts with a belt cinched at the waist, a loose round-necked blue and white striped tee, and your black converse—opting for comfort since you have the day off. 

The braid you messily placed your damp hair into last night after showering is quickly undone by your fingers, leaving the length hanging down your back in glossy waves as you leave your room and walk down the hall and to the kitchen. 

Joyce has piles of thick textbooks covering the table in the dining room, and you read the titles as you pass, a small frown pinching your at brows.  Electromagnets ? 

“Doing some light reading?” You ask Joyce with an amused smile.

She spins around, startled by your presence. “Huh?” At your nod towards the table, she sighs. “No, I just—“ she steps up beside the fridge and places her hand on the magnets still piled there. “You noticed this, right?”

“How the magnets aren’t sticking to the fridge? Yeah. I almost killed myself slipping on one last night.” You laugh lightly at yourself, knowing full well it wouldn’t have hurt much, and even if it did, whatever ache developed would disappear within seconds. 

Joyce nods, approaching you with one of the magnets in hand. “Remember when the power went out the other night? Something must have happened to cause this. An electromagnetic force strong enough to impact the entire town.” 

You blink at her. “Okay. Why does that matter?”

“Things are losing their magnetism, (Y/N)! You don’t think that’s strange? Especially  here , of all places?” She waves her arms around until you’re forced to place your hands on her shoulders to calm her.

You take a single deep breath. Weird things have happened in Hawkins a lot in the past few years, this you agree—you consider yourself and El even existing to be one of them. But part of you wonders if Joyce is simply a little paranoid, especially after everything she and her family have been through; seeing patterns and dangers that aren’t really there. Anomalies are not an automatic threat, something you yourself have had to learn over time—and are still learning. But you do trust her, and you owe it to her to at least try to see it her way. “Okay, Joyce. I’m listening. Explain it to me.”

She takes your hand with one of her own and grabs her car keys and purse with the other. “I’ll explain on the way.” 

“On the way to where?” You ask, quickly snatching your bag from its place hanging on the back of one of the chairs as she hauls you out of the house. 

“Hoppers!”

*******

Joyce really believes that this odd occurrence could have originated from the lab. The Hawkins Lab, the very one that was sealed shut for good last year. The one that was you and your sisters’ torture chamber for years. You don’t really want to believe that anyone would have risked going back after everything that happened inside, and to the town as a result, but you knew the type of people who worked there. Cruel, brilliant, determined. You wouldn’t be entirely surprised if some rogue scientists decided to continue conducting research in there. 

“Do you see now?” Joyce asks from the drivers seat, having calmed a little. Or maybe she’s simply noticed the turmoil circulating through you. “If you’re not comfortable, I can take you back home—“

“No.” You shake your head. “If it really is coming from the lab, I need to help end it.” 

The woman offers you a small smile and a consoling pat of her hand against yours. 

Soon, she pulls onto a small space just inside the limits of the woods and parks before getting out. You follow, slinging your bag across your shoulders. 

Hoppers little cabin is quant but also a little creepy and eerie if one didn’t know who it belonged to. 

“Hopper? Are you there?” Without preamble, Joyce jogs up the steps to the door and walks right on in, immediately giving you an eyeful of the Chief with literally nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Joyce! Maybe knock first!” You scold, sending the Chief an apologetic smile as you delicately close the door behind you. 

“Oh! Look who it is!” Hopper greets with a strange joy steeped in sarcasm. 

Joyce ignores his clearly miffed attitude. Though, you’d be pissed too if someone just waltzed into your house while you were barely covered. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, we do. I haven't been stood up like that since Alice Gilbert in the 9th grade. What are you doing? Joyce.” A small frown forms on your face as you look back and forth between them.  Stood up ? “Hello?” Hopper snaps at Joyce as she stands next to his fridge and dumps the contents of her purse onto the floor. Wallet, keys, chapstick, and a dozen magnets spill out. 

”Just watch.” She picks up a magnet and places it against the fridge and lets go, only for it to slip back onto the floor. A few times she does this, and you settle against the wall as she stands up to explain herself. 

“Okay, you're freaking me out.” He sends you a perturbed look as he pulls his uniform shirt over his shoulders for some kind of modesty. “What is wrong with her?” 

“She’s getting there, Chief.” You gesture to the woman at his fridge. 

“You slipped on this, remember?” At his confirmation she continues, “It lost its magnetism.”

“Oh, did it?” 

“And the same exact thing happened at my house.” 

“Wow.”

“And I thought, ‘Okay, that's weird.’ Right? Why are all these magnets suddenly losing their magnetism? So, I went and saw Scott.” 

Hopper’s frown deepens, and he rubs at his eyes. “Scott. Who's Scott?” 

“Scott Clarke.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Your child's science teacher?” 

“He's pretty brilliant, actually. And I asked him, ‘How is this happening?’ And he built this magnetic field using an AC transformer and plugging it into a solenoid. And with that solenoid, which basically—“ 

“Slow down, slow down.” Hopper rises from his perch on the arm of the couch. “I just want to get this exactly right, okay?” He holds up one finger, counting off. “You stand me up. No phone call, no apology, because you had to go to  Scott Clarke's house.” 

“Yeah.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and you have to purse your lips together to hold in a snort at their antics. 

A humorless smile breaks across Hopper’s face. “You've outdone yourself, Joyce. You really have.” He turns to walk away, and she follows right after him. 

“Oh, come on, Hop, you're not even listening to me. Scott was able to demagnetize some of the magnets, and he thinks—“

“I don't care what Scott thinks!”

She pushes on, her tone growing stern. “He thinks that a large-scale magnetic field could be built using some sort of machine or or experimental technology.”

You move to peer at them as they move about the house, watching as Hopper squints mockingly at Joyce. “He's brilliant, isn't he? He's really brilliant. Is he single too?” He turns his back on her to walk into his room. 

“What if it's them?” She asks, considerably more calm than a moment ago, but still very serious. “To build a machine like this, you need resources. You need scientists, you need funding—tens of millions of dollars.”

“Joyce.” He turns back around to face her. 

“It can't just be a coincidence, Hopper. It has to be them.” 

“Joyce, stop.”

“It has to be the lab.”

He steps closer to her. “It is impossible.” 

“Well, then, prove it to me.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, take us back there.”

“To the lab.”

“Yeah, I wanna go back.”

“Because some magnets fell off your fridge.”

“Yes.”

Hopper throws you an unimpressed grimace. “And you’re going along with this? Really?”

A shrug bunches your shoulders. “Is it really so impossible?” As little as you’d like to be pondering the possibility, Joyce is very much determined to investigate this phenomenon, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to let her do it alone. Not to mention the anxious knot in your stomach that makes you wonder if it really could be someone who has returned to the lab to conduct more heinous experiments. 

He finally sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, makes sense.”

“Thank you.” Joyce throws her hands up in relief. 

“It makes sense.” He looks down at his watch. “I'm sorry. I'm a little busy right now, but maybe we can meet up there, like tonight, like seven o'clock? You know, of course, unless something comes up—which, you know, it will.”

Joyce scoffs at him, hands falling to her hips. “You know, after everything that's happened, this is no joke.”

“No, I don't think it's a joke.” He yanks aside the curtain that hangs over a door frame that leads to, what you assume, is his bedroom, judging by the peek of a bed frame and dresser that you catch as he disappears behind it. “I think that when I asked you out, I think you got scared. I think you got scared, and now, you're inventing things. You're inventing things to get worked up about so that you can push me away.” Joyce rolls her eyes and waves a hand at you as she makes way for the door. You both step outside, and you watch as she walks into Hopper’s shed, rifling around for something. You can still hear the Chief ranting in the house behind you, and almost feel bad. 

“(Y/N)!” Joyce whispers, holding out a pair of bolt cutters as she continues to search. You take the hefty tool, looking it over as the Chief pushes open the front door, fully dressed with his boots in hand. 

“Joyce! What the hell are you doing?” 

She exits the shed with a couple flashlights. “We need to borrow these.” You follow her back to the car where you toss the tools you requisitioned into the back seat. 

“No, you're not going back there,” Hopper declares as he sits on the steps to tug on his boots. Joyce, you're not going back there! (Y/N)!” He stands still struggling to pull on the other boot, hopping towards them. “Son of a bitch! We’ll take my truck!”

*******

The clouds have finallyburst, releasing the rain that has been building up all morning. From your seat in the back of Hopper’s truck, you watch droplets slide down the window as you weave your loose hair into a set of thick dutch pigtail braids. Nancy Wheeler helped to teach you how to braid a couple of different styles when she invited you to stay overnight at her house not long after El disappeared the first time defeating the demogorgon. It’s now one of your favorite ways to style your hair. In the lab, your hair was always either left loose or in a tight bun on top of your head to keep it out of the way during testing. 

“What do you think we’ll find in there?” You speak up. Joyce glances back at you, reaching out to squeeze your knee affectionately. 

“Hopefully nothing,” Hopper replies, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “You don’t have to go in if you’re not comfortable, (Y/N). Don’t force yourself if you’re not up to it. Personally, if you were my kid, I wouldn’t let you go anywhere near the damned place. But you’re an adult capable of making your own decisions.” 

You shake your head. “No. I’m going in. It’s just... nerves I guess.” Your head tilts against the window, wanting to talk about something else. Your gaze flickers to Joyce, and a mischievous smile pulls at your lips. “So, he asked you out on a date?” You tease.

She shakes her head, pressing her hand to her face. “Don’t you start.” 

“I did, actually,” Hopper answers. “And she decided to hang out with a middle school teacher instead.” 

“For a good reason!” Joyce defends, smacking his arm. 

Hopper pulls away from the assault, as far as he can anyway while driving. “Hey! No need to get violent!” 

Laughter bubbles up the back of your throat, and you lean forward between the front seats. “I didn’t mean to get you both all riled up again.” Your head swivels between them both. “Why do you both fight like the old married couple that comes into the station?” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Winshaw?” Hopper wonders. 

“Yeah. They’re always looking for their cat that runs off.” You chuckle to yourself. “At least once a week they come in and argue about whose fault it is and who saw her last. But they always come in holding hands. And they never let go of each other the entire time, not once, no matter how upset they get.” 

Joyce hums, looking out the window. Hopper is just as silent, one hand on the steering wheel while the other props against his chin. You simply sit back in your seat with an uncontainable grin. 

*******

All of the humor eventually fades as the truck pulls up around the bend to the facility. It appears dead in its abandonment, like a cold carcass. But the sight raises goosebumps along your arms all the same. 

Hopper parks near the front door, and you follow behind him and Joyce to the entrance. He hands you a flashlight, and you grip it, using its solid presence as something to ground you. 

The bolt cutters split the chain keeping the doors shut, and when they’re peeled open, the scent of dust and smoke waft out, mingling with the mustiness that built from months with no ventilation. It stings your nose and sticks at the back of your throat, dragging forth a feeling of nausea. The underlying smell of stringent cleaner is familiar, and it doesn’t help the queasiness in your stomach. 

It’s dark inside, the main glass doors having long been shattered, littering the floor with the shards. You switch on your flashlight, sweeping across the room. 

“Hello?” Hopper calls out, his voice echoing. “Anybody home? We come in peace.” 

Joyce follows behind you, and pauses, her light fixated on a particular area. A haunted look falls upon her face, one you know all too well. Bob died here, in this foyer, and that isn’t something she’ll forget anytime soon. You approach her side, hand lightly touching her arm. 

She tears her gaze away to look at you. “Are you okay?” You ask her softly. 

Joyce nods, reaching out to gently pat your cheek before following after Hopper. You stick close, trailing behind them as they find a door that leads to a set of stairs, and head down. Obvious signs of combat, destruction, and general disrepair decorate the walls, floors, and ceiling. Any equipment you stumble upon is either charred with smoke or in pieces. There’s even more than a few spots and blotches of dried blood in places, and you swallow hard against the rising memories that threaten to overtake you like a tidal wave. 

For the most part, you and your sisters were kept to an isolated part of the lab on a lower level of the building, meant exclusively for “high value specimens”, but Hopper keeps going down, further than you’ve ever been, until he reaches a doorway covered with a tarp, and steps through. 

You follow, your flashlight revealing equipment used to create and (attempt to) contain the breach. You never saw it for yourself, have never even seen—or been to—the other side the way El has, but you can feel the echo of its presence like slime running down your spine, thick and warm and wet. It’s cloying, and somehow the air feels thinner, harder to breathe, but you stay quiet as they walk to a massive wall and stop before it. 

Hopper smooths his hand over the large slab of white concrete, knocking a few times. “Nobody’s home.” He steps away as Joyce continues to examine it, then looks at you. “What about you? Do you notice anything?” 

“Not really.” You shake your head. “It feels weird in here, but that’s probably just because I’m terrified of this place.” 

He looks back at Joyce. “All the cavities have been filled. I watched them do it. It’s over.” 

Joyce walks away from the wall, sitting on the edge of a cart meant to haul large pieces of equipment. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not losing your mind,” Hopper says, pacing across the floor. “Not any more than I am. You know, the other day, I almost shot Betsy Payne's dog because it came rushing at me from behind this fence, and I swear to God, I thought it was one of those things.” A demogorgon, you figure he means. You can clearly remember when they were running rampant around the town, those ungodly, ugly pod-headed mutts, and you helped Steve Harrington and the kids destroy the tunnels they were creating beneath the town. “You know that I'm keeping a close eye on things, right?” The Chief adds. 

Joyce nods. “Yeah.”

“Because it's important to me. It is important to me that you feel safe. That you and your family feel safe.” He gestures to you. “I want you to feel like this can still be your home.” 

Joyce quickly glances at you, and you frown slightly. “What does that mean?” You ask, glancing between them both. 

“What? You didn't think I'd find out about that?” Hopper goes on. “Gary called me. He said he's fixing up your house to put on the market. The other kids know yet?” When she shakes her head, he approaches and sits down in front of her. “After Sarah, I had to get away. I had to get the hell out of that place, you know? Outrun those, uh, those memories, I guess. I mean, why do you think I ended up back in this shithole? But you have something that I never had.” You slowly walk away, listening, but your brain is buzzing. “You have people that know what you've been through. You have people that care about you. Right here. In Hawkins.” 

“Were you gonna tell me?” You speak up, turning to look at Joyce. “I mean, I’ve been living with you for a while. Were you just going to pack up and leave out of the blue?” 

“I figured you’d be happy to leave Hawkins,” she offers. 

“I hate how close we are to this lab, don’t get me wrong; it’s a stain I wish I could scrub away. But I don’t want to leave my sister. I can’t.” 

Joyce nods in understanding. “Well, regardless of where we end up, you’ll always have a home with the Byers.” She smiles unsteadily. 

An abrupt clanking noise makes you jump and inch closer to them as they both stand. 

“What's that?” Joyce asks. 

Hopper puts a hand out to you both as he steps back through the tarp-covered doorway. “Wait here.” 

You and Joyce share a look, but remain where you are as the Chief takes out his gun and follows the noise. 

“Do you think someone is here?” You whisper tremulously. 

“I don’t know. But Hop will find them if there is.” 

That’s what you’re afraid of. 

A crash comes from somewhere nearby, and you look at Joyce, horrified. No more words are exchanged as you both rush out, going back the way you all came in. 

“Hopper!” Joyce calls out, and you cringe slightly, really having wished to keep silent if the intruder is hostile. 

The sounds of struggle get closer as you follow it, finally stumbling upon the right room, only to find Hopper unconscious on the ground. Joyce falls to her knees beside him and attempts to wake him up when the revving of an engine catches your attention from outside. You step through the sliding glass doors and into the heavy rain, watching as a lone motorcycle drives off into the night. Squinting against the rainfall, you attempt to get a look at the license plate. 

Who it could have possibly been, and why they were here at the lab turns and tangles in your mind. 

“(Y/N)!” Joyce draws your attention. “We need to get out of here.” 

With no choice but to agree, you return to bend down and help drag Hopper out of the lab and back to his truck. 


	3. Chapter 3

A groan emanates from the couch where you and Joyce managed to haul Hopper onto once you returned to his cabin. 

You sit on one of the two chairs at the small table in the kitchen and turn at the noise, watching as Joyce jumps up to tend to him. 

He releases a rough cough, and Joyce kneels down next to him. “Hey, careful.” 

You grab a glass of water and bottle of pain relief medicine, approaching to offer them to Joyce as Hopper coughs again heavily, sitting up slightly to gag and consequently vomit into a pot she swiftly grabs from the couch and holds out for him. 

“Okay. That’s it, get it all out.” She places down the pot when his retching subsides and takes the proffered items from your hands, shaking a few aspirin out and handing them to him. “Here.” 

Hopper swallows down the medicine, following it with a heavy gulp from the glass. “How long have I been out?” He rasps. 

“The whole night,” you answer. “It’s Tuesday morning.” 

He curses under his breath. 

“You've been drifting in and out,” Joyce explains more thoroughly. 

“Yeah, but how did I get here?” 

She throws you a weary glance. “Slowly.” 

“What's the last thing you remember?” You inquire, addressing Hopper. 

“Some thug attacked me.” He pushes himself to sit up. 

“Hey, you need to rest,” Joyce scolds. 

“No, I'm fine.”

She reaches out to stop him. “No, you're not fine, Hop.”

“I'm fine.” He pushes to his feet, and you immediately swivel away to face the opposite direction as his blanket falls away to reveal his naked body, cheeks burning. 

So that’s why Joyce asked you to wait in El’s room shortly after returning. 

Hopper sounds reasonably puzzled. “Um. Where are my clothes?”

Joyce stutters behind you to the point where you wonder just what she was doing while you were in the other room. You know she had to take off his clothes because they were drenched through, but she didn’t bother put anything else on him? Joyce Byers you scoundrel. “They were soaked,” she finally says, following him out onto the porch. 

From the corner of your eye you notice he’s tied the sheet around his waist much like he had the towel yesterday. You really hope this isn’t becoming a trend; catching the chief of police unawares while he’s in the nude is really not something you want to become a regular occurance. 

You lean against the wall and watch when they come back in, Joyce already pressing him for answers. 

“I mean, did you recognize him?”

“Who?”

“The thug.”

“Well, I didn't exactly get a good look.”

“Well, I mean, he's gotta be government, right?” Joyce offers hopefully. 

Hopper wanders off to his bedroom with her right on his heels. “Yeah, but if he's government, what's he doing slinking around? Why is he running? You know, why didn't we find anything down there?”

“Let's ask him.” Joyce turns to you, and you grab a notepad off the table before approaching, holding it up to Hopper to get a good look. 

“What is that?”

“His license plate,” Joyce says. “(Y/N) caught pieces of it before they sped off.”

“What are the dashes?”

“They’re blanks,” you reply. “There was either an H or a P with the part rubbed off. And there was definitely a Y. And that, I think, was a B, but it could've been an eight—“

“I think you should stick to the archives, kiddo,” Hopper remarks before stepping into his room and pulling the curtain closed. 

Joyce groans. “Can't you run a search or something?”

“I just think you have to lower your expectations. I mean, this is a state government agency. Gonna take weeks before they find a match.”

She looks at you, mouthing, “Really? Weeks?” You reply with a shrug. 

“And, I mean, what are the odds that this guy registers a car in his own name?”

“It wasn't a car though, Chief,” you sigh, rubbing between your eyes. 

The curtain is ripped open, and Hopper looks at you both. But you and Joyce are staring at his shirt, which includes a lot more color than you’re used to seeing him wear. 

“Nice shirt, Chief.” You grin at his deadpan glare. 

“What do you mean it wasn't a car?” 

*******

Turns out, Hopper happened to see a motorcycle at the town hall a couple days ago with the exact same description of the one you saw at the lab. Shiny, red, and being ridden by someone of a large build. 

Hopper stalks into the building with the determination of someone prepared to get some answers at any cost. Honestly, you’re a little afraid of what he’ll do, but you do trust him and his methods, so both you and Joyce follow him anyway. 

Inside, he walks straight to the mayor’s office, not even sending a passing glance at the secretary who stands up with a displeased, “excuse me!” as he strides right in and slams the door shut behind him. 

Joyce raises her hands placatingly, offering, “You might want to sit down.” 

You lean up against the desk, facing the door in preparation for what will inevitably be an interesting and entertaining exchange. 

Their conversation is muffled for the first few minutes, until there’s a loud  _slam!_ against the door, followed by a wail. 

“My nose! You broke my goddamn nose!”

“And your friend almost killed me last night,” Hopper growls, “so I’d say we’re still not even.” 

You send a look towards Joyce whose own eyes have grown wide. From the sounds of it, Hopper has the mayor pinned to the door, or somewhere close to it. 

The secretary—her name plate says Candice—cries out, “Larry!” She moves to the door and attempts to open it, jiggling the doorknob unsuccessfully. 

“Let's cut the crap, Larry! Who is this guy? Government? Military?” The door jostles as if someone is shoved against it once more. 

“You're making a big mistake,” the mayor threatens. 

“Who is he?”

“It's Arnold Schwarzenegger.” A wet _thud_, followed by another howl of pain. 

“Larry!” Candice hurries back to her desk as quickly as her tall heels and form-fitting skirt will allow and reaches for the phone, only to have the cord ripped from the cradle by Joyce as she removes it. 

“Who you calling? The police?” She looks at the woman as if she should know better. 

You delicately remove the phone from Candice’s grasp and replace it, informing her, “I don’t think you’ll need this right now.” 

There’s a crash from inside the office, soon followed by incremental yowls that makes you wonder if you do or do not want to know what Hopper is doing exactly. 

_Remember not to ever piss of the Chief_, you muse.

The door finally swings open, and the mayor comes tumbling out, barely catching himself against the wall before Hopper comes out and grabs him to steady him. 

“Larry?” Candice mewls in worry. 

“He just bumped his head,” Hopper explains to the woman as he guides the mayor out of the room. “Just a little boo-boo, right, Lar?” 

“Have a nice day.” Joyce quips, closing the door behind herself while you send a quick wave before slipping out in front of her. 

Hopper leads the mayor to his truck, sending smiles, nods, and winks at everyone he passes on the way out in an attempt to assure them that everything is fine and under control. Meanwhile you and Joyce follow, making you wonder just what exactly went on in that office. 

“So, uh, where to next?” You ask with a wavering smile as the mayor is pushed into the truck beside you in the back. 

“This fellow is going to provide us with some documents we need,” Hopper answers as he settles into the drivers seat and pulls away from the curb while Joyce is still buckling in. 

“For what exactly?” 

“The guy who attacked me works for this clown.” 

You send a quick glance at the man in question, who is nursing his busted nose with a tissue he managed to nab. More than likely Hopper’s doing. Sounded like he did a lot of damage while inside that office. 

“So, where are we going then?” 

“To the mayors humble abode.” 

*******

The truck pulls to a stop in front of an elegant suburban home, nearly the same size as the town hall building. 

The inside is just as lovely, finely decorated and open and unlike anything you’ve been in. You can’t help but stare at everything as the mayor makes way for the stairs and begins to ascend them with a hand braced against his side as if he’s hurting there just as much as his face. 

Hopper whistles. “Wow, love the place, Lar.” 

The mayor leads you all down the hall and into what must be his bedroom. It’s nearly the same size as the Byers’ entire floor plan. How one person can take up so much space you have no clue. Seems excessive and even wasteful. Regardless of how nice the interior is, something about it makes you a little uncomfortable. 

A folder is pulled out from a safe built into the wall and handed to Hopper who swipes some knickknacks off of a side table to make space for him to rest against it. 

“So, what are we looking at?” He opens the file and sifts through the papers. 

The mayor releases a heavy sigh. “Land deeds, transfers of property...” 

“So your buddies at Starcourt, they suddenly start buying up all this property.” He peers at the other man. “They tell you why?”

“I already told you, they don't tell me anything.”

“They're just using you, I get it.” Joyce takes the file from him and looks through them for herself. You look over her shoulder, only recognizing a few types of the documents from what you’ve seen at work. “What I don't get is why you have a bunch of land deeds in a safe in your bedroom.”

“These people, Jim, they're bad news.”

Hopper winds the rubber band previously secured around the folder around his hand. “So, what, this is blackmail?”

“Protection.”

“Protection,” Hopper repeats, pointing his fingers in the shape of a gun and releasing the band, hitting the mayor directly between the eyes and making him flinch. 

“Hold on a second,” Joyce mutters, walking away and back out into the hall. You follow her where she’s stopped at a framed map hanging on the wall. 

“Hey, what is it?” Hopper asks from behind you. 

Joyce points at various locations on the map that coincides with several of the documents.“Hess Farm, Henry's place, Bullocks Look, they're all here. They're all in Southeast Hawkins, right near Jordan Lake. And what else is near Jordan Lake?” 

“The power plant,” Hopper answers. 

“Wait,” you interrupt, eyes roving over the map. “So, that power outage is what caused the magnets to fall?”

Hopper seems to come to the same conclusion, running a hand down his face. 

“Yeah, I mean, Scott says that this machine would take a massive amount of power to run. So, what if this machine that we've been talking about really does exist, and the reason that we didn't find it at the lab is because it isn't at the lab.”

“It’s at one of those properties,” you conclude, eyes growing wide. 

Hopper straightens, looking from you to Joyce and back again. “Um, I want you to forget about sales, I want you to come work for me at the Hawkins PD. And you, ever thought about becoming a detective?” 

“And have to look at your face every day?” Joyce jokes affectionately. “I don't think so.”

From the other room, a clattering sound draws your attention. Hopper’s face hardens as he stalks back into the bedroom where the mayor is attempting to make an escape through the window. “Larry! Hey, where do you think you're going, pal?” He thrusts him back and further into the room, sending him sprawling at your feet. 

“We’ve got what we need,” you say, jerking your head towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

“Yeah, just a minute. Gotta tie up a loose end.” Hopper pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket—he’s had those the entire time?—and drags the mayor to his bedside and cuffs him to the bed frame. “Okay.” He claps his hands together and follows you and Joyce back out to his truck. 

“Alright.” You open the folder in your lap and look through the documents. “If we’re looking for what causes the electromagnetic pulse, it makes the most sense to start at the place closest to the power plant, right?” You lean forward and plop the deed into Joyce’s lap. 

“You’re getting good at this,” Hopper praises you, peeking at the paper and pulling out onto the main road. “A regular Nancy Drew.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The house is isolated at the end of a long road and not nearly as rundown and decrepit as the others you’ve been to tonight. If secret experiments are being conducted here it’s a decent cover; a quaint family farmhouse with the name Hess on the mailbox that’s out of the way but not dilapidated enough to possibly draw unwanted attention from folks who like to explore abandoned buildings. 

A single light is on inside when you all arrive. “Looks like somebody is home,” Hopper notes as he shuts off the truck, flicking his cigarette out the window. He made sure to shut off the headlights a little further back at your suggestion so as to not alert its potential inhabitants of your arrival. 

With a flashlight in your hand once more, you, Joyce, and Hopper enter the house. It’s the fourth place you’re searching so far, having gone down a list of properties that Joyce has written down on a notepad. Hess Farm. 

The inside is quite barren—much like the other places you’ve been to tonight, but a little more stable in appearance and structure—save for a few pieces of furniture situated in such a way that makes you wonder if this is maybe the right place. 

Your flashlight illuminates the room as you step further in, but you suddenly stop, brows knitting. An odd crawling sensation covers your limbs, almost a vibration. In your ears it’s a high whining, almost too high pitched to catch, pulsing slowly. 

“Do you hear that?” Joyce whispers, and you nod, unsure if she can even see it. 

The floorboards creak lightly as you three move across the floor, towards the gentle pulsing. Through a doorway, you catch the lonely light that must have been the one you saw from outside swelling with warm light, then dimming, then brightening once again in a constant rhythm. 

Hopper continues to search the house, gun one one hand while he has his flashlight in the other, both in a secure grip. 

All three of you step into a bedroom, and you pause in the doorway, feeling the vibrations course through you. It seems to originate from your feet and then up your body. 

“Where's that coming from?” Hopper mutters, growing frustrated. 

Squatting to the floor, you press your fingertips to the wood. Immediately, the tremors snake up your fingertips with the same intensity as your feet. 

“It’s below us,” Joyce offers from her place against the ground, her ear pressed against the floor. Her flashlight is pointing towards the bed where she left it lying next to her. A vent-like object is attached to what should be part of the bed’s base. A strange light glows beyond it as the vibrations continue. 

“What is that?” You point at the grate-like object, and Hopper bends down to take a look for himself.

“I think that’s our way in.” He stands back up straight as Joyce pushes to her feet. “Here, help me with this.”

You place the flashlight on the floor briefly as you, Hopper, and Joyce all grip the bed and pull up. It glides upwards with much more ease than expected until it meets the wall. A set of stairs lead down into some kind of basement-like space, renovated with equipment you can’t put a name to. 

Hopper leads you and Joyce further in, gun held in front of him. 

It appears pretty empty, until your ears catch a clanking noise, followed by the sound of tools cranking and clicking. Then there’s voices, just ahead. You’re not certain what language they’re speaking, but it isn’t English. Although the sound of it isn’t entirely unfamiliar, you’re just unable to interpret it in your head, like when you hear a snippet of a song from another room and you can recognize the rhythm and beat of the words but you cannot make out the words themselves.

“Hey, dipshits!” Hopper’s shout startles the men, causing one of them to drop their tool onto the ground with a metallic clatter as they stand. “Hawkins PD. Hands in the air.” They merely stare at you three in mixed confusion. 

“Don't make me say it again!” Hopper warns. 

One of the men turns to the other and begins speaking rapidly, clearly growing panicked. 

“English,” Hopper commands. “You speak English?” 

The other man, bespectacled and dressed a little more professionally than the other who’s in a jumpsuit, steps forward with his hands up in a placating gesture before speaking in what you can only assume is an attempt to keep the situation from escalating. 

“I can't understand you!” Hopper growls, even as the man continues to attempt to communicate somehow. “I do not speak Russian!” 

Joyce grabs his attention by calling out, “Hopper!” She points to the ceiling above you all, drawing attention to the thudding footsteps. Your blood runs cold. Someone else is here. And judging by the intensity of the steps, the forced heaviness, whoever it is wants you to know they’re here. 

“Get over here,” Hopper hisses, grabbing the bespectacled man while pointing his gun at him and pulling him behind a pillar before handcuffing—where is he getting all of these handcuffs from?—him to a pipe. “Stay here, keep him quiet,” he directs you and Joyce as he returns to deal with the other man. You’re not entirely sure what he does, but there’s a small scuffle as the man is wrestled down and silenced somehow. Probably another set of handcuffs. 

The footsteps have descended down the stairs and make their way deeper into the room. You can just make out a large form around the corner, but quickly pull back as you lean out a little too far, bumping into the restrained foreign man beside you. You spare him a glance, and notice him already looking down at you. 

_Weird_, you think, slightly narrowing your eyes.  _Have I seen him somewhere before?_

“Don't move!” Hopper draws your attention back to him, and you chance peering around the column again, seeing him with his gun trained on the back of the newcomer’s head. “Drop the gun. Drop it! You understand what I'm saying, big guy? Drop the weapon.” 

“Or what?” The man replies in an accented voice. “You going to shoot?” 

“Good. So you do understand what I'm saying, huh? And, yeah, you don't put that thing away, I'm gonna blow some daylight into that thick skull of yours.” Hopper nudges the barrel of his gun further into the man’s skull. 

“No. You won't do that.” He sounds fairly certain about that. 

Hopper cocks his head to the side, resenting this man’s calm demeanor. “Why's that?”

“Because you are policeman. Policemen have rules.”

“Oh, yeah?” He cocks his gun. “Wanna test that theory? I'm gonna count to three. One, two, three!” The gun fires, and you flinch as the man jerks away at the absolute last second and grabs Hopper, flinging him to the ground. His gun slides across the floor, nearest to you. 

The two men lock in a hold, trying to get the best of one other, but the foreign man still has his much larger gun, and when Hopper attempts to get ahold of it, the trigger is pulled, sending bullets ricocheting throughout the room. 

Hopper grunts as Joyce bends closer to the ground with a shriek, covering her head with her hands. Shooting a glance at the woman, you crouch slightly to sidle forward and grab Hopper’s gun. A sting of pain hits you in the shoulder and thigh, but you crawl back behind the column quickly. 

The crash and thud of the fight catches your ears, and you peek back out as Hopper disarms the other man, sending his rifle sliding out of his reach. But it would seem he doesn’t really need it as he quickly puts Hopper on the ground by flipping him over his shoulder in a maneuver that he had to have been trained to perfect. The Chief scoots away towards the far wall, where he finally gets ahold of something and smashes it into the other man’s leg, sending him collapsing to the ground with a pained grunt. 

“Go!” Hopper shouts, pushing to his feet and running behind the column with you and Joyce before the other man has the chance to get his gun again. He pulls out some keys from his pocket and uncuffs the bespectacled man, uttering, “Come on, Smirnoff. You're coming with us!” He yanks the man up, cuffs his hands back together, and pushes him to follow Joyce. 

“Go, go, go!”

The foreign man finally retrieves his assault rifle, cocking it as everyone makes a run for the stairs. The bullets begin to spray the room as he shoots, and Joyce screams as Hopper urges you all to hurry. 

In an attempt to help them get out safely, you take the rear and aim Hopper’s gun backwards as you run towards the stairs, firing at the attacker until the chamber clicks, signifying that it’s empty. 

“(Y/N)!” Hopper shouts in alarm when he doesn’t see you in front of him. 

“I’m here!” You skip the last few steps and skid out of the way as Hopper pushes the bed back down, bullets piercing straight through it and lodging into the ceiling. 

For good measure, Hopper shoves down the heavy bookcase near the bed on top of it to hold it down and keep it closed, hopefully making it more difficult for you all to be followed. “Let’s go!”

Outside, you all sprint to the truck, where Hopper tosses Joyce the keys. “Joyce! Drive!” She misses them, and they fall to the ground. “Come on, Joyce! Quit screwin' around!” He sends you a desperate look. “You drive then, kid!”

“I can’t drive!” You exclaim as Joyce scrambles to pick up the keys from the dirt. “Escaped lab experiment, remember? Never exactly had the chance to learn!” 

Everyone jumps into their seats as Joyce finally grabs the keys. You take the passenger seat this time, and Hopper gets in the back with the foreign man. 

“Go! Joyce, drive!”

“I'm trying!” Her fingers shake as she tries to find the right key. 

“Joyce, please, drive!  _Drive_!” 

The engine roars as she finally gets it started, pressing the gas pedal and peeling out of the driveway as more gunfire explodes from the porch. Everyone ducks down as bullets pierce through glass and metal. The back window is shattered, sending glass flying across the interior of the truck. A single sliver manages to slice across your cheek. The tires squeal as Joyce finally gets on the road and picks up speed away from the house. 

“Still think it was our government?” Hopper pants, pressing an exhausted hand to his face and dragging it down. 

Joyce frowns, eyes focused ahead. 

“You alright, kid?” Hopper asks you. 

“I’m still in one piece, if that’s what you’re asking.” You turn your head to look back at him with a thumbs up. 

“You’re bleeding though.” He gestures to your cheek, frowning. 

You swipe a finger against your face and pull away with blood. “I’m fine. The cut is already gone. See?” You lick your thumb and lean forward so he can see as you wipe away the blood that there’s no wound underneath. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “I forgot about that.” 

“I do too sometimes. Haven’t exactly been living a very hazardous lifestyle for awhile, so it’s been a little easier to forget I’m still different.” You crane your head to look down at your shoulder and then pinch at your thigh where another couple smears of blood are drying. “The bullets went right through,” you note quietly. 

Hopper gapes at you. “You were  _shot_, too? Hell, kid, just because you can heal really fast doesn’t mean you need to endanger yourself more!” 

“I wasn’t endangering myself. I was protecting  you guys. Speaking of which.” You grab his gun from your lap and hand it out to him. “I emptied it shooting at that guy. Sorry.” 

Hopper’s eyebrows raise, but you’re unsure if he’s impressed or just caught off guard. “You’re just full of surprises tonight.” 

“I doubt it’ll be the last one,” you laugh lightly. As you turn away to face the front, you catch the gaze of the foreign man. He watches you wordlessly—not that you’d likely understand anything he’d say. But it’s interesting all the same. He’s been strangely calm about being crammed into a vehicle with three noisy Americans, and you find yourself wishing you could communicate with him, if not to at least exchange more than over-exaggerated pronunciations of each others’ native language in an attempt to get the other to comprehend. You’re certain that Hopper’s condescending way of speaking to him will quickly grow tiresome, and if he’s expecting him to cooperate, speaking as a former lab experiment, offering some basic respect just might go a long way. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the likely very butchered Russian translations. I literally got them from google and pasted it right onto the document 🙃 But I’m totally down for fixing them up if anyone sees any glaring errors ✌🏽

“Son of a bitch!” 

From your spot sitting on the ground, you watch Hopper struggle to fix the smoking heap of metal that is now his truck. A few of the bullets being shot at you all last night must have hit a few vital parts beneath the hood. Though, mercifully, the truck did manage to put some decent distance between you all and the crazy raging Russian man with the massive gun. Before it decided to give up in the middle of a forested area that Joyce felt would be best to park. Honestly, despite the bugs harassing you and the humidity making you feel sticky  _everywhere_, it was a good call; it wouldn’t have done any one of you any good to have just been stalled on the side of the road basically waiting for the man to catch up. And you have little doubt that he’ll be pursuing. The mayor did compare him to the actor who plays The Terminator—and yes, you have gotten around to seeing the film. Dustin, Lucas, Will, Max, and Mike practically strong-armed you until you had a movie night with them. To be fair, El hadn’t seen them either, so it was a new experience for both of you. 

Steam hisses from the truck’s engine, causing Hopper to jump back with another heavy curse. 

“You’re doing great, Chief,” you praise with a small grin, fidgeting with the strap of leather tied around your wrist that covers the tattooed  _005_ inked into your skin. 

He drops his head with a sigh before whipping it around to glower at you. “I don’t need your sass right now, kid.” 

You hold up your hands before pushing to your feet. “Just trying to be supportive.” 

Behind you, Hopper’s hostage is cuffed to a tree, which means he has no where to go and is forced to listen to Joyce’s attempt to get some answers out of him. You wander closer as she demonstrates the predicament with the electromagnetic pulse, sliding your hands into your pockets. 

“Okay, a magnet? Magnets?” She’s holding two rocks in her hands, pressing them together. “Do you know "magnet"?  _Magnet__?_” 

The man pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he nods. “Magnit.”

“Yes, magnit.” Joyce nods, satisfied that she’s making progress. “Okay, so, uh, magnit on my my fridge, my icebox, and then they fell.” She holds out the rocks as if held against something, then drops them. “They demagnetized, stopped working. Uh, do you understand?”

“Da.” 

Your eyebrows rise, impressed that she seems to be making some headway. Until the man notices you behind Joyce, and she has to draw his attention back to her. 

“You listening?” She frowns slightly and glances over her shoulder, then having to do a double-take when she sees you. “Oh, hey. I think I’m getting somewhere with him. He seems to understand a few words.” She turns back to the man, who only returns his attention back to her when she starts speaking again. “Okay, so is that because of the machines that you're working on?”

“Machina.” 

“Machina, machina, yes.” She imitates the sound of an engine. 

“Da, da, machina.” He points to the truck with a nod. 

“Oh, not not the car,” Joyce denies with a wave of her hand. The machines at Hess Farm where we kidnapped you—“

Hopper finally snaps, “Joyce, please! You're givin' me a headache, both of you!”

You cup a hand over your mouth to stifle the huff of laughter that escapes. This entire situation is too weird, and you're pretty much an expert on weird. 

Joyce sighs. “Hold on, please. One minute.” She looks at you. “(Y/N), keep him company for a minute, will ya?”

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” You slowly take the few steps to approach the Russian man, arms stiff by your sides as your fingers curl and uncurl in your pockets. “Hi.” 

He watches you closely; his eyes seem to take in everything at once. It reminds you of the scientists that would examine you every day in the lab. It’s unnerving as hell, but he doesn’t look at you with detachment the way they did, he looks at you with intrigue, with wonder, and it almost feels just as odd. “Привет.” 

_ Joyce made this seem so much easier_ _,_ you think, chewing lightly on your lip. Maybe you should just start with something basic. Names. You should know his name, right? Lifting a hand from your pocket, you press it to your chest, introducing yourself, “I’m (Y/N). My name.”

He blinks at you, then a smile lifts at his mouth, and you’re struck with realization and captivation in the very same moment. Because while you notice how his smile makes his entire face light up, you also recognize it. In the light of day, you’re able to look at him more clearly, and now know why he seemed somehow familiar. The other day, at the stoplight. It was him! 

“Alexei. меня зовут алексей.” He points at you. “(Y/N).” Even with his accent, your name sounds pretty much the way anyone else would say it. But you find you like how he stresses the vowels a little stronger. 

“Yes.” You nod with a kind smile of your own. “It’s nice to meet you, Alexei. Hopefully you’re able to help us out.” 

His eyebrows pinch slightly, letting you know that he didn’t understand what you said beyond his own name, but he smiles all the same, looking amused. 

Behind you, the truck’s engine turns over as Joyce attempts to get it started. There’s a strange electrical crackling noise that makes Alexei frown, and you look back at Hopper and Joyce. 

“It's not working,” she sighs in frustration. 

“Try it again,” Hopper instructs. 

Joyce twists the key again, and Hopper curses as he jumps up onto the bumper to get a better look inside the hood. That crackling noise appears again, just beneath the rough sound of the engine turning over. 

“Hey. Hey!” You look at Alexei as he raises his voice to get their attention. “Stop, stop!”

“Shut up, Smirnoff!” Hopper shouts. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, only to be answered with rapidly spoken Russian, sounding very alarmed. “Hey, Chief, I think something’s wrong!” 

“Aw, come on!” Hopper jumps down and walks towards you both, pointing a finger at Alexei. “He needs to shut his damn—“ 

An abrupt high-pitched squealing breaks through the air, and the truck’s engine sparks, spitting out black smoke before bursting with flames beneath the hood. 

“Shit!” Hopper curses, jumping away as he covers his face with his arm. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Joyce!” You shriek as the strap of your overalls is gripped and tugged, pulling you backwards and out of the way of any stray sparks. 

She manages to leap out of the vehicle and take cover behind a nearby tree as the truck’s engine ignites in a blast of fire, belching smoke.  Your heart pounds, and you release a heavy breath. She’s okay. 

Over your shoulder, you notice Alexei is directly behind you, your side nearly melded to his where he pulled you out of the way with what reach he could manage while handcuffed to a tree. You crane your head back to meet his eyes. For some reason, his first instinct was to pull you out of the way of the explosion rather than try to turn away himself. Not that you’d have been injured for long, but he doesn’t know that. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, taking a step away and feeling his fingers slide from your overalls strap. 

“Everyone still alive?” Hopper asks, wiping his forehead. 

“You know it takes a lot more than something like that to take me out, Chief.” 

The man claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Don’t I know it, kid.” 

*******

“So, we’re  _walking _to Illinois?” You ask in disbelief, eyes narrowed at Hopper as everyone hikes through the woods now that there is no other means of transportation, seeing as the last one detonated on itself. 

“No, smartass,” Hopper refutes. 

“But I thought this friend of yours lived in Illinois,” Joyce says. 

“He's not really a friend. He's more like an acquaintance.” 

“Oh? Okay, so this acquaintance lives in Illinois? Correct?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“So, we're walking to Illinois?” She repeats your question, likely wanting Hopper to give a plan that makes sense. Because walking that far when you all are in a rush to potentially expose a Russian plot is not very sensible. 

“Yeah, yeah, we're gonna walk to Illinois. You know, I figure we'll get there by, like, Friday evening. I hope that works for your schedule.” He looks at the woman, insulted at her lack of faith. “Jesus Christ. We're not walking to Illinois, okay?”

“Well, then what are we doing?”

“I don't know, okay? I will figure something out.” 

“Isn't there someone in Indiana who speaks Russian that—“

You walk a little ahead, letting their arguing drift behind you. All you want is to just get out of these woods. You may possess enhanced regeneration, but mosquitoes are still pests that you don’t want flying in your face and getting stuck in your hair. 

“они спорят как старая пара,” Alexei mutters from beside you. He sounds a little exasperated, but the small secretive smile he sends you makes you wonder if he was trying to be funny, possibly crack a joke, about the two behind you. 

Somehow his smiles are infectious, and you can’t help but return one of your own before looking back ahead while Hopper and Joyce continue to bicker. 

*******

The further into the day it gets, the warmer it becomes without any of the humidity reducing. No one has eaten or had any water for hours, and despite the fact that you literally cannot die from dehydration or starvation, the discomfort is still very much something you’d rather avoid. It’s all making everyone pretty cranky. Especially the older two of the group. 

“Oh, my God,” Joyce groans at Hopper. “Can you not walk so close? You stink.” 

You snort at her candidness, only to receive a sharp glare from Hopper. 

He sighs before laughing humorlessly. “I get it, I get it. You're upset, right? 'Cause I blew up the car?”

“Yeah, with me in it.”

“Well, I just want to remind you of something, Joyce.” He swats agitatedly at the insects that fly too close. “I am not a mechanic.”

“Yeah, clearly. That's why you should've listened to Alexei.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Your new boyfriend, right?” 

“Yes. Every man I talk to from now on has to be my boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes at their antics and walk a few feet away from where they’ve stopped, nudging your shoe into the dirt. “They really cannot go without arguing for more than ten minutes, can they?” You grumble, raising your gaze when you notice Alexei move past you, then break into a run. “Uh—“ 

“He's running,” Joyce points out before you get the chance to. 

Alexei picks up the pace when Hopper sees him making a break for it. 

“You son of a bitch!”

You and Joyce exchange bemused looks before following after the men, running to keep up. 

“Hey! Smirnoff!” Hopper shouts up ahead. “Get back here!”

The men abruptly stop, and you slow down behind them, panting as you notice you’re finally at the edge of the woods. What’s more, there is a 7/11 directly ahead. 

Alexei speaks, sounding excited as he points at the gas station with a satisfied grin. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hopper mutters, keeping hold of the Russian’s arm as he leads you all into the convenience store. 

The bells chime as you enter, and everyone immediately makes way for the cooler in the back to grab their beverage of choice. While they pick sodas, you choose a bottle of pink lemonade. They all pop open their cans, but you find yourself struggling to twist off the lid. 

“дай это мне.” 

You look at Alexei who takes the bottle and hands you his can before squeezing and turning the cap until it loosens. 

“Ну вот.” He returns the bottle to you and takes back his can. 

“Thanks.” You tip the bottle to your lips and gulp the drink down until you gasp for air before wiping the back of your hand against your mouth. 

“You all gonna pay for those?” The cashier asks from behind the counter. 

“Ah, yeah,” Hopper nods. “Just give us a sec.” He looks at you and Joyce. “Grab some provisions. But don’t go overboard, I only have twenty bucks.” 

Along with the pack of sodas, cigarettes, a bag of chips, beef jerky, and a map of Illinois that Hopper already has on the counter, you place a few water bottles, a pack of gum, and a pre-made sandwich next to them. 

The cash register beeps as all of the products are rung up. “So, what are you, some kinda bounty hunter?” The cashier asks Hopper. 

He glances at Alexei who’s hanging out by the slurpee machine. “I'm a cop. I'm undercover.” 

You watch as Alexei pulls the lever on the machine and pours some of the icee onto his fingers and sticks them in his mouth. Holding back a smile, you say, “We’ll take a large slurpee too, please,” before approaching the Russian man and grabbing an empty cup. He steps back and watches as you fill it up with the flavor he was testing. After plopping in a straw, you hand it over to him. 

He looks from the cup, to you, and back again before smiling and carefully taking it from your hands. “благодарю вас.”

Deducing what he means, you nod. “No problem.” 

“Let’s get going,” Hopper calls, bag in hand. 

You gently take Alexei’s arm and guide him outside, letting go when Hopper trades you the bag and takes hold of Alexei himself quite a bit more forcefully. 

“We’re gonna have to borrow a car,” Hopper says while scanning the lot. “Let me do the talking, okay?”

“Sure thing,” you acquiesce. You’re not exactly practiced on auto theft, but seeing as he’s a cop, he’s gotta know what he’s doing in this case much better than you. 

“And you just keep your mouth shut, all right?” He whispers to Alexei as he leads you both to a yellow convertible that has pulled in. “All right, all right, hop in.” He ushers Alexei into the back seat, and you follow, settling in beside him. The man doesn’t argue, he’s perfectly content with his slurpee cupped between his hands. “Come on, get in.”

“Hey!” The car’s owner shouts from the gas pump. 

“Hey! You ‘hey’! This is a police emergency, all right? I’m detective Hopper and this is detective Byers.” He whips out his ID. “I need to commandeer your vehicle.”

“_What?"_

“What is your name, sir?”

“Todd.”

“Todd?”

“Yeah.”

Hopper walks to the back of the car and pulls the gas nozzle out before replacing it on the pump. “Todd listen to me. That man in there, I know he doesn't look it, but he is one of the most dangerous men in the world. He's, uh, murdered many children.” You look at Alexei and cover your mouth to conceal your grin. He’s just sitting there, calm as you please, nursing his drink. 

“What?”

“Yeah, he's a true psychopath. I tracked him over two state lines.” 

“Hey, what's going on?” Joyce finally appears. 

“Ah, Detective Byers.” He notices his slip and corrects, “The  _other_ detective Byers. It’s a common name. Small world and all. Uh, this is Todd. He's agreed to lend us his vehicle to transport our dangerous criminal.”

She takes in Alexei in the back seat as Hopper opens the door for her to get in. “Oh, yes, he very dangerous, uh, forger-er.”

“Yeah. Uh, child murderer.”

“Child murderer?” She repeats with a startled frown. 

Hopper slides into the drivers seat. “We should really get going.”

“Hey, how do I get my car back?”

“You just call the station.” He starts up the car, sending heavy metal music blaring. 

“What station? Hey, what station?” 

“You're doing the right thing!” The car pulls forward, tires squealing as he pulls out onto the road. 

You settle into your seat, being sure to put on the seatbelt. “So, how long will it take to reach your friend?” 

Hopper sighs. “He isn’t my friend,” he corrects. “He’s a professional contact. And we’ll get there sometime this evening.” 

“Right, so, we get there, and then what? He translates for Alexei so we can figure out what they were working on in the farmhouse and how that caused the electromagnetic pulse in Hawkins and what it was even for? We’ll find out their endgame?” 

“Uh...pretty much, yeah.” 

“Hm. Okay.” You nod, satisfied for the moment, leaning back in your seat to get comfortable for the long drive. Regardless of your anxieties about what is going on in Hawkins, what it is the Russians are attempting to do could put the entire town in danger—possibly the country. The tensions between Russia and the US are high as it is—you do watch TV sometimes and see what’s on the news. But to come all the way here and work covertly in a small American town that has already experienced so many threatening adversaries... 

Just what is their goal? 

It can’t be a coincidence that they’re in Hawkins, the one place that a tear between dimensions has been opened twice. 

You regard Alexei from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t exactly scream “evil scientist hell-bent on ushering in the apocalypse”. Weirdly, he’s been very cooperative, considering he’s been kidnapped and yelled at and manhandled (on Hopper’s part). None of you have exactly been holding a gun to his head or threatening his life; he’s simply had his hands cuffed this whole time, which hasn’t really done much except come in handy when Hopper needed to keep him restrained in one place. 

Besides all that, though, he’s been very civil. Not once has he expressed anger or spite or attempted to incite violence on anyone. Even his voice has remained composed. He’s been patient despite the language barrier, and he doesn’t even know where you’re all headed right now. If you were in his position—in a foreign country with no one nearby that understands your language, and then taken into custody by foreigners and dragged along with them to who knows where, and having no clue where you’ll end up—you’d be absolutely terrified. 

Part of you can’t help but sympathize. You were a prisoner once; the circumstances were entirely different but still, you understand. You’d never wish that sort of experience on anyone, not even on those who did it to you in the first place. At one point, you would have done anything to see them suffer, but living amongst the Byers and Hopper and the kids and El... Your perspective has shifted. That’s why, regardless of what you discover about Alexei’s involvement in what’s going on in Hawkins, you’re not going to watch him become a scapegoat for what is likely something bigger. After all, the big Russian man from the farmhouse was shooting at Alexei too when you all were escaping. Chances are, now that he’s in your custody, he’s considered a liability—something else you learned in the Hawkins Lab: people seen as expendable end up missing when they mess up. 

“С тобой все в порядке?” Alexei’s quiet words draw your attention, and you see he’s looking at you—or, more specifically, your wrist in the grasp of your other hand resting in your lap. 

The leather strap has chafed into your skin from the habitual tampering; pulling it back and forth is something you sometimes find yourself doing, usually due to anxiety in some shape or form. There’s a raw red marking across the delicate skin, and it stings a little, so you stop. 

“Sorry, it’s just a bad habit. It’ll heal in a minute.” You tug the strap back a little and watch as the abrasion fades, returning your skin to its original color as if the wound was never even there. 

Alexei gasps quietly, looking from your wrist to your face, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses as they slip a little down his nose. “Как ты это сделал?” You’re not certain how to respond when you’re not sure what he even said, so you merely offer a small smile. 

“Могу ли я?” Alexei gestures to your wrist that still rests limp in your other hand, holding out his own hands. 

“My bracelet?” You wonder, tugging at the strap. 

He shakes his head and points again. “Нет, ваше запястье.” 

You lift your hand and wave it slightly to wordlessly indicate if it is what he is referring to. At his nod, you hesitate, sending a quick glance at Hopper and Joyce who are locked in their own conversation, before twisting in your seat to face Alexei a little better. When the seatbelt twists awkwardly and presses into your chest and stomach uncomfortably, you opt to simply unbuckle and scoot a little closer to the scientist. 

With considerably less space between you both, you unwrap the leather to remove it and finally offer him your right wrist, which he takes delicately into his own hands as if being handed a newborn, careful and gentle. You’re literally the most indestructible person in the car, but the treatment somehow makes you feel valuable. 

You watch as he examines your skin as it rapidly repairs itself, his warm hands cradling yours, slowly turning your hand over. He mutters to himself under his breath, sounding awed. 

Somehow it feels nothing at all like how you’ve been studied in the past; nothing about this feels clinical or detached. It almost feels intimate. A flush creeps up your face at the thought, prickling and warm at your cheeks. 

When his thumb lightly grazes the soft skin over your tattoo, now unblemished and no longer surrounded by raw reddened skin, another pulse of warmth spreads through your chest and courses up your neck until you’re certain your face is turning an embarrassing shade of red. Maybe your abilities prevent that. Here’s to hoping. It would be mortifying to be caught heavily blushing just because someone cute is touching you without aggression. You might actually die from the humiliation. 

“ты потрясающая...” 

“Huh?” You mumble, though you’re not sure why, it isn’t as if him repeating himself will help you understand what he said any easier. 

Alexei lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he smiles. You’re reminded of just how much it lights up his whole face, and how young it makes him appear, enough to the point where you wonder just how old he is. 

As you return a beaming smile of your own, the sound of someone heavily clearing their throat comes from the front seat. 

“You two getting comfy back there?” Hopper inquires as he scowls through the rearview mirror, his voice tight as though his teeth are clenched. 

“Shouldn’t you have your eyes on the road, Chief?” You snap, gently pulling your arm from Alexei’s grasp and sliding back into your previous seat. His fingers slip over your skin as you move away, leaving behind a light tingling sensation. 

“Leave them alone, Hop,” Joyce clucks good-naturedly. 

“I— He is a Russian scientist! He is the enemy here! Why are you acting as if he’s an abandoned puppy we picked up off the side of the road?” 

They fall back into arguing back and forth, and you release a heavy sigh, curling up the best you can in your seat and shutting your eyes in hopes that the wind rushing past will work as white noise and help lull you into a nap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • меня зовут алексей. - Menya zovut Aleksey. - My name is Alexei.  
• Привет. - Privet. - Hello.  
• они спорят как старая пара. - Oni sporyat kak staraya para. - They argue like an old couple.  
• дай это мне. - Day eto mne. - Give it to me.  
• Ну вот. - Nu vot. - Here you go.  
• благодарю вас. - Blagodaryu vas. - Thank you.  
• С тобой все в порядке? - S toboy vse v poryadke? - Are you okay?  
• Как ты это сделал? - Kak ty eto sdelal? - How did you do this?  
• Могу ли я? - Mogu li ya? - May I?  
• Нет, ваше запястье. - Net, vashe zapyast'ye. - No, your wrist.  
• ты потрясающая... - Ty potryasayushchaya... - You are incredible...


	6. Chapter 6

“(Y/N).” 

There’s a gentle shake to your shoulder, and you peel open an eye. Joyce stands just outside your door, looking down at you with a small apologetic smile. “We’re here.” 

You nod and sit up, stretching your arms above you, then stepping out of the car and stretching again for the sake of your legs and back. There’s a few tiny cracks, and you groan lightly in satisfaction before following the others to the entrance of what appears to be some kind of warehouse. 

“I thought you said this guy was a journalist,” Joyce says dubiously, peering around at the building. 

Hopper guides Alexei to the door. “Yeah, uh, he was.” 

“Was?”

He presses a button on a device near the door, causing a loud buzzing noise to go off. 

“Look at the camera,” a voice commands from the speaker on the device. 

Hopper bends down closer to it before the voice instructs, “The camera, above you to the right.” You all look into the upper right corner of the building where a camera is nestled. “Identify yourselves.” 

“Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, (Y/N) Byers, Smirnoff.” He reaches up to lightly squeeze the man’s face. 

“Alexei,” Joyce corrects. 

“Alexei.”

“Surname,” the voice requests. 

“I don't know.”

“Family name!”

“Yeah, I know—I told you I don't know, okay? Open the damn door!”

“Hopper,” Joyce scolds. 

“It's all right. Don't worry. Murray’s a little bit eccentric, but he's completely harmless.”

The door opens, and a man steps out, whipping a shotgun in front of him and cocking it as he points it in Alexei’s face. “Name.” 

Alexei scowls at the man, staring down the barrel as he says something in a brazen tone. 

The other man responds in kind before sending a smile at Hopper. “Hi Jim.” He lowers the gun. “Come on in, I guess.”

Murray turns and leads everyone inside, and you take in what must be his home outfitted in what once must have been some kind of factory or warehouse. Music is playing as you all enter, only to stop again in an entryway as Murray says, “Wait,” and pulls some kind of homemade device from a cabinet and runs it over Alexei, trailing down. The device whines as it descends, and suddenly beeps when it reaches his hands, likely detecting the metal of the handcuffs, but Alexei swats at the thing all the same as he exclaims his agitation. 

Murray replies with a quip of his own before Hopper steps in. 

“How long is this gonna take, because I—“ 

“No,” Murray rejects his complaint. 

“No,” Hopper mimics. 

“No, you do not get to question me. You have dragged an enemy of the state into my home as carelessly as a child drags in shit on his shoe. I will search him until I am satisfied.” He presses his device into Hopper’s chest in irritation. 

Joyce clears her throat and pulls Hopper back down the hall at her request, leaving you standing near Alexei, watching as he’s scanned with Murray’s strange device. 

“Excuse me!” He abruptly calls out to the two behind you.

“What?” Hopper looks at him. 

“Do me a favor and move your lovers' quarrel elsewhere.” 

Your lift an eyebrow at his comment as they both scramble to deny his assumptions with, “Oh, oh, this? No, no, no,” and, “ _Not_ a lovers' quarrel, pal.”

“Spare me!” Murray raises his voice over them. 

“What is your problem?” Joyce demands as she stomps back towards him. 

“Please, stop talking!” 

You’re about to step in and tell him off when she goes off all on her own, snarling, “No! We have had a very long day. We have been shot at, nearly blown up, walked God knows how many miles in a hundred degree heat, stole a car, all while being chased by this gigantic psychopath, all so we could bring him—“ she pokes Alexei, “—to you.” She jabs Murray. “Because somehow, you're the closest person who speaks Russian, which I can't believe. But that doesn't matter because, unfortunately, we're here. So, if you don't mind, put that thing away, stop behaving like a jackass, and ask him what he's doing that's making my magnets fall off my damn fridge!” She takes a breath, then adds, marginally more calm, “ Please .” 

You can’t contain your proud grin as she pushes past Murray, and you follow her before Hopper guides Alexei through as well while the man stands there momentarily, clearly stunned by the woman’s passionate rant. 

“Sure, welcome, or whatever,” he grumbles, tossing his device back into the cabinet. 

*******

“Make yourselves at home, I guess,” Murray proclaims snidely with a forced smile and a dramatic wave of his arm. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hopper replies, pushing Alexei onto the couch before settling into one of the armchairs. 

You perch on the edge of the couch beside Alexei, watching as Murray paces back and forth in front of everyone with his arms crossed. “So, Alexei was it?” The man in question cants his head at the sound of his name. “Что ты делаешь в Америке, Алексей?”

Alexei sets his jaw at Murray’s acerbic body language and tone. “Для работы.” 

“What are you saying?” Joyce asks, glancing back and forth between the two men. 

Murray places his hands on his hips. “I asked him why he’s in America, and he said he’s here for work.” 

“Wait, what work?” Hopper demands. “Ask him what he’s working on.”

“Обезьяна хочет знать, над чем ты работаешь.” 

Alexei cracks a small amused smile before pushing up his glasses. “Меня привели сюда, чтобы закончить проект.” 

“He said he came to finish a project.” 

“Project?” Joyce echoes. 

You ask, “But why in Hawkins?” 

Murray relays the question to Alexei, who replies, “Это эпицентр для размерной аномалии. Один мы не могли повторить в России.”

The other man frowns, scratching at his bearded chin. 

“Well?” Joyce prompts. 

“They’re studying some kind of dimensional anomaly that they couldn’t figure out in Russia.” 

Hopper’s eyes widen. “How do they know about that?” 

Joyce holds her hands up, just as baffled as he is before asking, “But why are they studying it? The tear is closed.” 

An awful thought comes to mind, but you don’t want to accuse Alexei before you have more information. “And why do they need electromagnetic devices to do it?” 

Murray translates both your and Joyce’s questions to the scientist who then sighs. “Генераторы требуют очень специфического и очень мощного источника энергии.” 

“He said the generators need a lot of powerful energy to work.” 

Hopper leans forward to get Alexei’s attention, appearing increasingly impatient. “What generators? Is that what you’re using all of those properties for?” 

“I think the better question is, what do those generators do?” Joyce says. “What are they for?” 

Murray relays their questions, only for Alexei to push up his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Я больше не отвечаю на вопросы, пока не съест что-нибудь.” 

“Ah, he’s hungry.” 

Hopper blinks. “What?” 

“Hungry. He wants something to eat.” 

“Then get him something from your kitchen,” Hopper says through clenched teeth. 

Murray turns to Alexei. “Ты хочешь бутерброд?”

“Нет, гамбургеры. С дополнительным кетчупом. Также большой жареный, пакет Красных Мальборо, и один очень большой Slurpee.”

“He wants hamburgers with extra ketchup, a large fry, an extra-large slurpee, and a pack of cigarettes, Jim. Marlboro Reds.” 

Hopper drags his hand down his face before staring at the Russian man while addressing Murray. “Do you have any of that here?” 

“Nope.” 

“Then how—“

“For God’s sake, Hop, just go pick something up!” Joyce snaps, her own impatience getting the best of her. 

He stares at her, mouth agape before slowly pushing himself to his feet. “ Fine .” He points at Alexei. “But when I get back, we’re getting every answer to every question we have.” 

“There’s a Burger King right down the road,” Murray offers with a smarmy grin. 

You keep your lips pursed as Hopper stalks towards the front door, grumbling darkly to himself. When the door slams shut, you send Joyce a long-suffering look before slouching back into the couch, its cushions soft and pliable with age. 

“С тобой все в порядке?”

Alexei’s timid voice draws your attention, and you find him already looking at you with a mildly concerned expression. “Hm?” You glance up at Murray to translate, but he has wandered off into his kitchen, mixing some kind of drink. 

Your eyes are brought back to Alexei when you feel a few fingers lightly touch your arm. “Okay?” 

It comes out sounding like _“__oh-kei”_ , but you understand him all the same, nodding in response with a grateful smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.” Your own hand gently pats his, and in the process you silently take note of the difference in size of each of your hands. 

“No flirting on my couch,” Murray chides as he reenters the living room, a glass in his hand. “What would papa Hopper think of you canoodling with the enemy?” 

You splutter, looking away from Alexei’s confused face over to Joyce who has her face covered by her hand while she’s leaned back to lounge in her seat. You’re not sure if she’s listening or not, but you swear you can see a tiny grin on her lips. “I’m not—we aren’t—“ You sigh. “ _ Canoodling _ _?_ Really?” 

Murray shrugs as he passes his assortment of TVs, turning it on before he sits in Hopper’s empty seat. “This guy can’t seem to keep his eyes off of ya, girlie.” He looks at Alexei. “Не привязывайся слишком. Женщины - сложные существа.”

He frowns, pulling his gaze away from the cartoons that appear on the screen. “Занимайся своим делом, лысая свинья.” 

Murray guffaws, looking at you while pointing a thumb at Alexei. “A regular knight in shining armor, this one.” 

“What did he say?” You wonder, peering at the Russian man while he glares at Murray. 

“Ah, he’s just reluctant to accept my advice. I’m only looking out for you both.” He shrugs as he takes a deep gulp from his glass. 

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure you’re comfortable with where this is going. 

“It would never work out. He’s an enemy scientist and you’re a former lab experiment.” 

You blanch, your blood feeling as if it stutters in your very veins for a moment, sending a chill through you. “How do you know about that?”

Murray directs at himself with the hand he holds his cup with. “Investigative journalist, remember? I was there when the Hawkins Lab was closed down. I managed to sneak a peek at a few classified documents—“ he pauses at the daunted expression on your face. “You don’t need to look so terrified. I would never willingly let anyone else have that sort of information. It’ll stay up here with me forever.” He taps his forehead. 

“Вы расстроили ее,” Alexei remarks. “Что ты ей сказал?”

“I didn’t intend to upset her— Я не хотел. Она очень особенная и может быть в опасности, если узнают не те люди.”

You hum in acknowledgement, but still find yourself a little unnerved. It’s one thing for those you’re close to—those you trust—to know about your abilities when you yourself told them on your own terms, but it’s another entirely when a stranger brings it up. You were honestly hoping you were long out of range of anyone who might be aware of them—hell, most of those who were are likely dead after the demo-dogs raided the lab last year. Dr. Owens is the only one you’re certain is still alive, but he’s promised to leave you and El be. 

“Я не хочу, чтобы она была в опасности.” 

Murray cracks a smile and raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. “Your boy wants you to stay safe. How sweet.” 

A blush blooms across your cheeks while you scowl at the balding man. Alexei watches you tug fretfully at your braids, fingers twisting into the ends.  Blessedly, the front door buzzes before you’re made to combust in embarrassment, and Murray hops up to open it. 

Hopper strolls in with a Burger King bag and a large cup in his hands. “Two Whoppers, extra ketchup, large fry, pack of Marlboro Reds, and one extra-large Slurpee. Burger King is nowhere near the 7-Eleven, by the way.” He places each item on the coffee table before sitting on the loveseat beside Joyce and tearing into his own burger. 

“Never said it was,” Murray replies with a wry smile. 

Alexei scoots forward to the end of his seat and tucks a napkin into his shirt before chowing down on his own meal. 

Hopper crumbles his sandwich wrapper and tosses it onto the table. “Let's try this again. Joyce.” 

The woman leans forward. “Alexei, the generators, what are they powering?”

Hopper adds, “And tell him that we know it is not the Starcourt Mall, so he can stop selling us that crap.” 

Murray addresses Alexei, “Те генераторы, над которыми вы работали, что вы используете? Мы знаем, что это не торговый центр.”

Alexei picks up his slurpee and takes a big gulp, only to spit it out with a grimace. “Это на вкус как клубничное дерьмо.”

“What'd he say?”

“He says, ‘It's strawberry’.”

"I'm sorry?” 

“His Slurpee. He says it's strawberry.”

Hopper’s face begins to grow dark with impatience. “So what?”

“Hop, he did ask for cherry,” Joyce says with a small shrug. 

“Well, they didn't have cherry. They didn't have it. And it doesn't matter, because it all tastes the same, okay? It is sugar on ice. You tell him that.”

“Tell him what?” Murray asks. 

Hopper’s voice escalates in agitation. “You tell him that it all tastes the goddamn same!”

Murray winces at his tone before translating, “Все то же самое. Сахар на льду. Нет разницы.”

“Скажи этому глупому мужчине это совсем не то же самое, и я бы хотел вишню, которую я просил.”

“It's not the same at all, and he would like cherry.”

Alexei doesn’t appear to notice Hopper’s irritation. Either that, or he’s merely willfully ignoring it in favor of watching the cartoons. 

“Oh, yeah? You tell him he can forget it.”

“Он говорит, забудь об этом. Нет вишни.”

“Нет вишни, нет сделки.”

"He says, no cherry, no deal.” 

Hopper sends Alexei a deadpan glare, to which the Russian man returns with an unbothered expression of his own. Hopper sits up in his seat, taking a deep breath, and you realize he’s met his limit. 

He releases a roar, pushing to his feet and descending upon Alexei who yelps as he’s grabbed by his shirt and hauled out of his seat. 

“Oh, shit!” Murray shouts as he stands up and gets out of the way as Alexei is slammed onto the table. 

You rise as well, hands held out as you cry out, “Chief, don’t! Stop!”

Joyce yells, “No, Hop! Wait, wait, wait!”

“I'm not gonna hurt him!” Hopper growls between his teeth. 

“Then what  are you doing?” 

He yanks Alexei towards the door. “Come on! Come on!” He slams him up against the wall as he unlocks the door. “I'm just giving him an opportunity to get his  own damn cherry Slurpee !” Hopper throws Alexei outside where he sprawls across the ground with a whimper, his glasses flying off and into the dirt. Two sets of keys are thrown at him. One for the car and the other for his handcuffs. 

You nudge past Joyce and Murray to get outside, stepping through the door when Hopper turns around and grabs you by the strap of your overalls and pulls you back inside. 

“What are you—? Let go!” You manage to cast a look around his shoulder and catch Alexei’s startled gaze as he pushes his glasses back on. 

Hopper keeps you held back from the door as he shuts and locks it before standing in front of it like some sentinel. 

“Jim, that man is an enemy of the state,” Murray reminds him. 

“Yeah, who's been jerking us around for a full day! I get him his cherry Slurpee, then what? He wants a helicopter to charter him to his own private island. I have dealt with assholes like this my entire life. He could've escaped while we were in the woods, but he didn't. He stuck with us. Why do you think that is? It's because  he's scared . Not of us, of them. He's scared of that seven-foot-tall Russian freak who could've killed him just as easily as us. Smirnoff knows that if he runs back to his comrades without a scratch on him, they're gonna think that he spilled his guts. So, whether he likes it or not, we are the best chance he's got.”

As much as you’d like to believe that Alexei has a bit more integrity than Hopper is making him out to have, you have to admit that you don’t know much about him—you don’t even speak the same language—and if his allegiance to his country and their cause is strong enough, leaving you all behind won’t be an issue for him. But Hopper is right too. The Russian hunting you all down very likely won’t have any sympathy for Alexei if he believes that he betrayed Russia somehow. He very well might kill him just as easily as the rest of you, if not simply to stop him from revealing anymore information. That thought alone makes something in your stomach feel sour and queasy. 

“I give him 30 seconds before he comes knocking on that door, right back into our arms, with a new sense of humility,” Hopper finishes with a satisfied smile at his own cleverness. 

The sound of a car engine starting comes from the other side of the door. 

Murray peers through the window beside him. “Jim. I believe he has started the car.”

“You know, testing us. He's just calling my bluff.” 

“I believe he is now driving away.”

“Alexei!” You call out, unsure if he’s even able to hear you as you push at Hopper to move away from the door. 

“Jim, move,” Joyce commands, aiding you in shoving the Chief aside. 

You throw open the door and rush out, only to skid to a stop when you see the car hasn’t left the lot. Instead it rests idling at the exit. Then it begins to back up as Alexei puts the car in reverse. It stops, and he switches off the engine before stepping out and handing the keys back to Jim, muttering as he passes with his head hung, pausing only to meet your eyes with a look of mild chagrin before continuing into the house. 

Hopper puts a finger behind his ear. “I'm sorry, what did he say?”

Murray translates, “He says he likes strawberry, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Что ты делаешь в Америке, Алексей? - Chto ty delayesh' v Amerike, Alexei? - What are you doing in America, Alexei?  
• Для работы. - Dlya Raboty. - For work.  
• Обезьяна хочет знать, над чем ты работаешь. - Obez'yana khochet znat', nad chem ty rabotayesh'. - The ape wants to know what you are working on.  
• Меня привели сюда, чтобы закончить проект. - Menya priveli syuda, chtoby zakonchit' proyekt. - I was brought here to complete a project.  
• Это эпицентр для размерной аномалии. Один мы не могли повторить в России. - Eto epitsentr dlya razmernoy anomalii. Odin my ne mogli povtorit' v Rossii. - It is the epicenter of a dimensional anomaly. One we could not imitate in Russia.  
• Генераторы требуют очень специфического и очень мощного источника энергии. - Generatory trebuyut ochen' spetsificheskogo i ochen' moshchnogo istochnika energii. - The generators require a very specific and very powerful source of energy.  
• Я больше не отвечаю на вопросы, пока не съест что-нибудь. - YA bol'she ne otvechayu na voprosy, poka ne s"yest chto-nibud'. - I’m not answering anymore questions until I get something to eat.  
• Ты хочешь бутерброд? - Ty khochesh' buterbrod? - Do you want a sandwich?  
• Нет, гамбургеры. С дополнительным кетчупом. Также большой жареный, пакет Красных Мальборо, и один очень большой Slurpee. - Net, gamburgery. S dopolnitel'nym ketchupom. Takzhe bol'shoy zharenyy, paket Krasnykh Mal'boro, i odin ochen' bol'shoy Slurpee. - No, hamburgers. With extra ketchup. Also a large fry, a packet of Red Marlboro, and a large Slurpee.  
• С тобой все в порядке? - S toboy vse v poryadke? - Are you okay?  
• Не привязывайся слишком. Женщины - сложные существа. - Ne privyazyvaysya slishkom. Zhenshchiny - slozhnyye sushchestva. - Try not to get too attached. Women are complex creatures.  
• Занимайся своим делом, лысая свинья. - Zanimaysya svoim delom, lysaya svin'ya. - Mind your own business, bald pig.  
• Вы расстроили ее. Что ты ей сказал? - Vy rasstroili yeye. Chto ty yey skazal? - You’ve upset her. What did you say to her?  
• Я не хотел. Она очень особенная и может быть в опасности, если узнают не те люди. - YA ne khotel. Ona ochen' osobennaya i mozhet byt' v opasnosti, yesli uznayut ne te lyudi. - I didn’t intend to. She’s very special and could be in danger if the wrong people found out.  
• Я не хочу, чтобы она была в опасности. - YA ne khochu, chtoby ona byla v opasnosti. - I do not want her to be in danger.  
• Те генераторы, над которыми вы работали, что вы используете? Мы знаем, что это не торговый центр. - Te generatory, nad kotorymi vy rabotali, chto vy ispol'zuyete? My znayem, chto eto ne torgovyy tsentr. - The generators you were working on, what are they for? We know they aren’t for the shopping center.  
• Это на вкус как клубничное дерьмо. - Eto na vkus kak klubnichnoye der'mo. - This tastes like shit strawberry.  
• Все то же самое. Сахар на льду. Нет разницы. - Vse to zhe samoye. Sakhar na l'du. Net raznitsy. - It’s all the same. Sugar in ice. No difference.  
• Скажи этому глупому мужчине это совсем не то же самое, и я бы хотел вишню, которую я просил. - Skazhi etomu glupomu muzhchine eto sovsem ne to zhe samoye, i ya by khotel vishnyu, kotoruyu ya prosil. - Tell this stupid man that it’s not the same at all, and I would like the cherry I requested.  
• Он говорит, забудь об этом. Нет вишни. - On govorit, zabud' ob etom. Net vishni. - He says forget it. No cherry.  
• Нет вишни, нет сделки. - Net vishni, net sdelki. - No cherry, no deal.


	7. Chapter 7

Everyone returns to the living room where you begin picking up the mess that was left behind after Hopper’s outburst. You manage to put some of the garbage into the trash can in the kitchen, and mop up the spilled drinks on the floor with a towel. 

“Why is she cleaning your mess, Jim?” Murray asks as he shuts off the television set, looking at the man in question with a scolding sort of disappointment. 

Hopper sighs as he and Joyce return to their seats. “Just leave it, (Y/N). Murray can worry about it later, it’s his house.” 

“_Excuse_ me—“

“Can we please just get back to the matter at hand?” Joyce proposes. 

You dust your hands off as you place the sodden towel on the table before settling on the floor next to where Alexei sits on the couch. 

“Alright, so let’s get to the point. What is it exactly that you are working on in Hawkins?” Joyce asks, hands on her knees in anticipation. 

Murray translates for Alexei, and once he receives a response he says, “Ah, he says he needs to draw it out for you to help everyone understand. Be right back.” He stands and disappears into another room in the back for a few moments before returning with yellow a notepad and a pen. 

Alexei accepts the items and begins sketching, muttering to himself as he does so. He does this for several pages until the table is covered in his illustrations and notes. You look over them all while he picks up the unopened pack of cigarettes and takes one out to light and place between his lips. Joyce and Hopper do the same as they examine the drawings, scooting forward to get a good look until they decide to sit on the floor as well. 

Finally, Alexei addresses Murray who says, “He calls it the key, and this key emits a great energy. It requires much strength, power.” Alexei continues to explain while Murray translates. “Those houses, like the one you found, they're located near, uh, transformers.  They're stealing from your town's power grid.”

Hopper speaks around the cigarette between his lips, asking, “Why build this key here? Why are they not doing this in their own backyard? What are they trying to do, blow us to smithereens?”

Murray relays what he said to Alexei, who chuckles lightly before responding. “There were many of these, uh, keys before in Russia, but they turned out wrong. They had to come to where the, uh—“ His face pinches. 

Hopper presses, “Where the what?”

“I don't understand what he's saying.”

“I thought you were fluent,” Joyce admonishes with a confused scrunch of her nose. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Murray snarks. “Are my free translation services not good enough for you? Because you can just go ahead and file your complaint right up my ass!” 

Alexei, clearly taking notice of everyone’s confusion, picks up the empty fry container and a straw. 

“What is Smirnoff doing?” Hopper asks. 

“He's showing me.” Alexei points the straw at the container before beginning to explain. “Oh, okay. Uh, he says the straw, they're using it to penetrate a hole in a box?” He trails off, uncertain, before Alexei clarifies to him while forcing the straw against the box, only for it to bend at its lack of sturdiness and strength to get through. “Okay, sorry, sorry. The straw represents the key, which emits a great energy. They're using this energy to break through a barrier, to open a doorway. A doorway between worlds.”

Realization falls upon you, and your eyes grow wide as you glance at Joyce and Hopper, who seem to be coming to the same conclusion. They’re trying to reopen the gate to the Upside-Down. 

Alexei and Murray continue to speak. “But it seems this key was only half the equation. Location was the other half.” Alexei picks up a hamburger wrapper and unravels it before offering it to you to hold up for him. “In Hawkins, this door had been opened once. It was still healing.” He forces the straw through the paper, piercing through it easily. 

“Jesus Christ,” Hopper utters as you stare at the hole in the wrapper. 

“So, this door is open now?” Joyce asks. 

Murray repeats the question to Alexei. “He says it is opening.” 

Joyce releases a shaky sigh as she pushes to her feet. 

“Where are you going?” Hopper asks, standing as well. 

“To call our children.” She wanders off to find a phone while Hopper strides into the kitchen. 

Alexei waves a hand at the TV. “Можем ли мы смотреть Looney Tunes сейчас?”

Murray narrows his eyes. “Нет.” He gets to his feet and follows after Hopper, leaving you and Alexei alone. 

You place the wrapper down onto the table, your mind already going through what the implications of what opening the gate again could mean. Do the Russians not realize what they would be unleashing if they manage to create another tear? It makes you wonder how El and the other kids are doing. You haven’t heard from any of them in days. You figure if they catch wind of what is going on, there’ll be little to do to stop them from getting involved and trying to prevent another catastrophe like last year. You’re not sure if Hawkins can take another hit from an event like that. 

“я тебя расстроила?” Alexei’s soft voice draws your attention to him where he watches you from his perch on the couch. At your lack of response he tries, pointing at you, “Sad?” 

His accent thickens the consonants, and you smile gently at his concern before nodding. “Yes. Sad. And scared.” 

He shakes his head lightly, as if confused and needing further explanation. “Почему ты грустишь?” He edges forward in his seat until his knee is nearly brushing your shoulder, giving you his full attention. 

You pick up the wrapper again and point at the hole in the middle of it. “This is bad.” At the tilt of his head, you continue. “Opening the gate. Using your key. It will be bad. Very bad.” 

His frown appears a mixture of shame and disappointment as he stares at the wrapper. “Bad,” he echoes quietly before adding under his breath, “Я не могу позволить этому поставить тебя под угрозу.” 

“What did I say about flirting under my roof?” Murray announces as he and Hopper return, sitting back down while you roll your eyes. “У тебя будет достаточно времени, чтобы флиртовать с ней позже.” Alexei pushes his glasses up bashfully, almost self-consciously at his words towards him. 

“The key, is there a way to turn it off?” Hopper asks right off the bat. 

Murray asks Alexei, and he replies. “He could turn it off. ‘Could Edison not turn off a lamp, could Bell not hang up a phone?’ Cocky bastard. ‘But’—“

“But what?” Hopper presses. 

“But he is now ‘naked’. Sorry, ‘exposed’. Compromised.”

Hopper leans forward and grasps Alexei’s shoulders. “Hey, I will get you there. I will get you to your key.” 

Murray translates, and Alexei bursts out in laughter. 

“You wanna ask him what the hell's so funny about that?”

Murray and Alexei exchange words. “He says he likes your courage. You remind him of a—“ he clears his throat “—fat Rambo.” Alexei adds in some words. “But he says that even thin Rambo couldn't get there.” He pauses again to let Alexei speak. “This key, it is in an underground fortress designed by the greatest Russian minds, guarded by their greatest warriors. Breaking in is impossible.” 

“Impossible?” You repeat. “So he can’t get in at all? No one can?”

“It would seem that way.” 

Hopper seems to think hard for a few moments before launching to his feet. “I need to make a call.” He goes off to find the phone which is likely where Joyce still is. 

Murray gets up to follow him, instructing, “Be careful who you call, Jim. I have a secure line but it only lasts so long.” 

You watch them go before rubbing your hands over your face, yawning into your palms. 

“Вы устали?” Alexei asks, shuffling to the side and offering you a seat beside him. 

Although you’re uncertain of what he said, you crawl into the vacant space next to him and curl your legs beneath you in an attempt to get comfortable. You prop your head in your hand as you lean on the couch’s arm, watching Alexei as he fidgets with his watch. He mentioned being compromised, which would mean he can’t go back to his comrades, possibly even his own country. Where will he go when this is over? You can’t imagine turning him over to the United States government, because chances are, they’ll give him an ultimatum: stay and work for them, or be thrown to the wolves and shipped back to Russia where he would most likely still be met with a a grisly fate. Hardly any of those options sound alluring. Especially now since he has no reason to lie or be uncooperative. Also, and probably most notably, you find that you don’t want him get hurt. It isn’t his fault that he was captured to begin with. He might not be having his life hanging in the balance if he’d been left in that basement. 

As it is, you’re not entirely privy to his reasons for helping to create this key, especially if he's aware of what kind of damage using it could cause, but you’re willing to listen to his explanation. Whenever you get the chance. 

*******

After hearing Hopper and Joyce in the other room rant on the phone and then rant at one another and then rant at Murray for calling them out for their incessant ranting, they’ve decided it is time to move out and return to Hawkins and hope the military assistance they’ve requested follows through. So, everyone is in the car again. It is quite a bit more packed this time, seeing as Murray has come along. 

With little other choice, you’ve been stuck in the middle seat between Murray and Alexei. It’s cramped and bordering unbearable, but you keep your complaints to yourself, knowing there’s no other options. 

As Hopper pulls out onto the highway and picks up speed, you close your eyes and let the wind pass over you. Arrival back to Hawkins is estimated at around 9:30, and seeing as it is barely past noon, there’s a bit of a drive ahead. 

The shuffling of paper draws your attention, and you peel an eye open to look at Murray flipping through Alexei’s sketches. Most of this complex science stuff is beyond you, but from what you can tell, Alexei has devoted a lot of time and energy to this project, and you wonder just how long he’s been a part of it.

“Can you ask Alexei how long he’s been working on the key?” You request of Murray, tilting your head towards the man to get his attention. 

Murray glances at you, narrowing his eyes slightly before repeating your question in Russian. Alexei looks from him to you before answering, “Прошло пять лет с тех пор, как я начал работать над ключом. Но пробыли в Хокинсе всего девять месяцев.”

“He says he’s been a part of the project for five years, but only arrived in Hawkins nine months ago.” 

Five years? That predates the first tear in Hawkins. “Does he know what the key will do?”

Murray relays the question, to which Alexei replies. “Yes. But now he wishes he didn’t.”

“Why?”

Alexei explains, and Murray translates, “At first he joined the project out of scientific curiosity and an eagerness to explore the unknown. But now his superiors have been threatening him to work faster and produce results. He’s been having second thoughts for a while now.” 

A frown tugs at your brows, and you look at Alexei as you ask your next question. “You’re saying they’d hurt him if he didn’t open the gate?”

“That is how it would appear. Now he’s—“ Alexei interrupts to offer more insight, and Murray’s eyebrows rise, wrinkling his forehead. “—oh? He would like to stay in America.”

Despite the odd feeling of relief that overcomes you with that knowledge, you also know that the reality of it won’t make it an easy task to accomplish. “That will be a challenge...won't it?”

“The easiest way to get a green card, my dear, is through marriage, I’ll have you know.” He waggles his eyebrows and at Alexei’s request he translates what he said. The Russian man balks at him, stuttering out a response. “Ah, you both know I’m right.”

“We both know you’re a pain in the ass,” you mutter. 

“I am doing this for free, you know. Have a little respect.” 

“Yeah, well, apparently you were our only option.” 

Murray rolls his eyes, grumbling something about you all being ungrateful. Meanwhile, you squirm around in your seat a bit as your rear grows numb from the uncomfortable position. You keep your arms and elbows close to avoid hitting either of the men beside you on both sides. You return your head to its position leaning back against the cushioned headrest and closing your eyes. The drowsiness seems to hit you hard, and you already find yourself drifting as the other occupants exchange quiet conversation. 

“Вы можете прислониться ко мне, если хотите. Ты выглядишь неудобно,” Alexei says quietly into your ear.

You hum in acknowledgement, keeping your eyes closed but rolling your head towards him. 

Murray offers, “He said you can lean against him if it’ll make you more comfortable. You’re looking a little squished.”

A blush rushes up your neck as you peel your eyes open, but nod your acceptance of his offer. Alexei moves his arm and rests it behind you, giving you room to turn slightly and rest half of your torso against his chest. Part of you wonders if this is as comfortable for him as it is for you. 

“What are you grinning at?” You snap at Murray as you catch his pleased expression. 

“Oh, just the obvious.”

“What’s that?” 

“Young forbidden love blossoming right before my very eyes.”

“ _What _ is blossoming back there?” Hopper hollers from up front, leering through the rearview mirror. 

Alexei glances down at you with his brow pinched in confusion as you dip your chin to stare at your lap, face burning furiously at Murray’s incessant meddling. 

“I’m just teasing.” He flaps a hand at you. “Go back to napping, you look like you need it.” 

You raise your head and glare at the man, teeth clenched against a curse that you swallow back in favor of simply ignoring him and turning further into Alexei to tuck your head against his arm. Your heavy eyes fall shut, and your features slowly grow eased until you’re caught in the lull of a light slumber. 

*******

You’re not sure precisely how much time has passed, but when you find yourself rising out of the tide of sleep the sky is growing dark and mixed with colors of rich purples and an array of deep fathomless blues. Your eyes blink a few times to wipe away the bleariness that glazes your vision. Your ears catch up a moment later, picking up the voices engaging in conversation close by. 

The sound of paper shuffling draws your gaze to your lap where Alexei is holding a few of his sketches out while Murray points and nods. Your head has rolled further into Alexei’s chest where you’re tucked nearly beneath his chin. His arms move around you, keeping you propped against him while he holds the paper and gestures to articulate himself. 

“Ah, our sleeping beauty finally awakens,” Murray comments as he notices you shifting. 

Alexei looks down at you, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Ты хорошо поспал?”

“Judging by the color in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes, I believe she has indeed rested well.” Murray nods in response before addressing you. “You must have been exhausted, especially to have slept through those two bickering again.” He cants his head in the direction of the front seats. 

A small smile pulls at your sleepy pout. “Yeah, no kidding.” You pull yourself up a bit to give Alexei some breathing room, pointing at the sheets of paper. “Figured anything else out?”

“That’s what we’ve been doing. Alexei has been taking me step by step through what is needed to get into the facility and shut down the machine.” He reaches out for another paper and holds it in front of you so both he and Alexei can look at it. 

Alexei, even with slightly more mobility with you no longer entirely pressed against him, leaves his arms around you as he speaks to Murray. 

“What's he saying?” Asks Hopper from the drivers seat. 

“He's showing me the location of the key to turn off the machine.” He pauses to let Alexei continue. “Sorry, ‘keys’. Two keys.” 

“Two-man rule,” Hopper concludes. 

Joyce glances at him. “Two-man rule?”

“Yeah, two men, two keys, like a nuclear launch.” 

“But, uh, to retrieve the keys, there is a vault.” Alexei explains more to Murray before he continues, “And to open the vault, you need to enter Planck's constant.”

“Planck's what?”

“Planck's constant. It's a very famous number.”

Joyce nods in understanding. “All right, so we get the keys, and then we turn the machine off.”

“That's what he says.”

“All right, well, that shouldn't be too hard. We can do this.” Her confidence is always refreshing, but you highly doubt it will end up being that simple. 

Hopper rubs at his chin while he replies, “Joyce, did you hear the part where he said the place was like an impenetrable fortress?”

“Yeah, but there has to be a way in.”

“Yeah, there is. Our military.”

“Who are coming.”

You silently watch as the two bicker back and forth, wondering when and if you should interfere. And then you wonder if it will even help anything by inserting yourself. They usually sort it out eventually, this time shouldn’t be any different. 

“Well, we don't know that anymore because you yelled at them like it was a parent-teacher conference, and then you hung up on them, so we don't know what the hell's going on, because now we're on our way to rescue our children from the big, bad, Fourth of July celebration!”

“You know what,” Joyce snaps, “if you can't handle this, then just turn around and drop me off first.”

“What are you gonna do? You gonna walk back to Hawkins?”

“I will do anything if it gets me away from you!”

Murray decides he’s had enough and leans forward to chide, “Children! Children! Children! This interminable bickering was amusing at first, but it's getting very stale and we've still got a long drive ahead of us. So, why don't you two cut the horseshit and get to the part where you admit your sexual feelings for one another?”

“Whoa!” Hopper exclaims as Joyce admonishes with, “You are _way _off base, buddy!”

You clamp a hand over your mouth as stunned laughter escapes your throat. Alexei sends you an innocently confused look at your reaction. 

“Oh, spare me, spare me, spare me!” Murray rolls his eyes before leaning over Joyce’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, he's a brute. I know. Probably reminds you of a bad relationship, and, gosh, you'd really like a nice man to settle down with, but, admit it, you're real curious to know what he's like in the sack. And you.” He twists to address Hopper. “Ha! Well, you're just a big man-baby who'd rather act tough than show his true feelings, because the last time you opened your heart, you got hurt. Owie.” He rests his hands on the backs of their seats. “And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly boorish mating ritual. So, please, for my sake, either quit your bickering, or pull over, tear off those clothes, and get it over with already!” 

Your muffled laughter slips through your fingers. Joyce lets out an affronted gasp as Murray situates himself back in his seat with a pleased sigh.  Alexei directs a question at Murray, who replies in kind before they both share a knowing look and burst out with laughter at the expense of Joyce and Hopper.  “At this point, you two will get to that before they do.” He gestures at you and Alexei.  Your mouth drops open in shock at his words, cheeks flaring with heat as your hands fall to your lap. He’s lucky Alexei doesn’t understand what he said, otherwise you would have slapped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Можем ли мы смотреть Looney Tunes сейчас? - Mozhem li my smotret' Looney Tunes seychas? - Can we watch Looney Tunes now?  
* я тебя расстроила? - Ya tebya rasstroila? - Did I upset you?  
* Почему ты грустишь? - Pochemu ty grustish'? - Why are you sad?  
* Я не могу позволить этому поставить тебя под угрозу. - YA ne mogu pozvolit' etomu postavit' tebya pod ugrozu. - I can’t let this put you in danger.  
* У тебя будет достаточно времени, чтобы флиртовать с ней позже. - U tebya budet dostatochno vremeni, chtoby flirtovat' s ney pozzhe. - You will have plenty of time to flirt with her later.  
* Вы устали? - Vy ustali? - You’re tired?  
* Прошло пять лет с тех пор, как я начал работать над ключом. Но пробыли в Хокинсе всего девять месяцев. - Proshlo pyat' let s tekh por, kak ya nachal rabotat' nad klyuchom. No probyli v Khokinse vsego devyat' mesyatsev. - I started working on the key about five years ago. But I’ve been in Hawkins for only nine months.  
* Вы можете прислониться ко мне, если хотите. Ты выглядишь неудобно. - Вы можете прислониться ко мне, если хотите. Ты выглядишь неудобно. - You can lean against me if you want. You look uncomfortable.  
* Ты хорошо поспал? - Ty khorosho pospal? - Did you sleep well?


	8. Chapter 8

Luckily enough, the remainder of the drive is relatively calm, and by the time Hopper pulls into the lot reserved for the Hawkins Fourth of July carnival, the sky has darkened into a deep dusky blue pricked with tiny glittering stars. 

Joyce and Hopper get out of the car, but when you and Murray move to follow, the Chief commands, “Stay here, go over the plans with Smirnoff.”

“I can help look,” Murray attempts to persuade them. 

“No, you'll scare the children.” He slams the door. 

“Jim, if this is about earlier—“

“Why can’t I come?” You protest. “I won’t be much help in here.”

“But we won’t run the risk of losing you in the crowds and have to run around looking for you too.”

“I’m not your kid, Chief! I’m capable of looking after myself—“

“Stay put! You hear me?” He points a finger at you. “Stay put!”

Murray sighs while you cross your arms petulantly, attempting to send Joyce a pleading look, but she ducks to avoid it, skirting around the car to follow after Hopper. 

Irritation vibrates through you until you can no longer stand to sit still. Murray and Alexei watch as you brace your hands on the back of the front seats and push yourself to stand up, placing your feet on the seat beneath you before resting your rear on the back of the car and swiveling around to face the carnival. The lights are a luminous swath of color, twinkling and flashing in a beckoning display promising amusement and merriment. The tinny music is repetitive but upbeat and fitting for the occasion. If the situation weren’t so dire, you’d probably enjoy attending the carnival. 

Murray and Alexei continue discussing the plans to infiltrate and destroy the machine putting Hawkins at risk. Soon they join you on the bumper without Alexei’s notes, and you have an inkling that they’re no longer talking about the plans. 

Murray gestures at the carnival before standing up. “Come on. Let’s show our Russian friend what he’s been missing out on.” 

You scoot off of the car, eyebrows raised. “You’re sure you’re willing to induce Hopper’s wrath?” Even as you say it you’re grinning, already certain of what he’ll choose, and excited all the same. 

“Ah, the big softie will get over it.” He pats Alexei’s shoulder and starts for the carnival. 

You glance at Alexei and shrug before following, weaving through the other parked cars before stepping right into the middle of the festivities. 

Murray walks over to the booth selling tickets, speaking to Alexei all the while. Whatever he is saying, it is making the Russian man’s eyes grow wide with intrigue and anticipation. The two converse as if they didn’t despise one another just this morning. Alexei is growing on Murray, just as you suspect you’re becoming quite fond of him as well. 

“What are you grinning about, missy?” Murray asks while handing off the tickets to Alexei. 

“Am I not allowed to enjoy anything?” You pout, eyebrow raised indignantly. “Must my every move be analyzed? I like being here, is that a crime?” 

“Ah, no. Keep your claws in, no need to get snappy.” He steps closer and lowers his voice. “Do keep an eye on our friend though. We still don’t know who is lurking around.”

You frown and lean back a bit. “Where are you going?” 

“To get some food.” He winks and begins walking off, presumably repeating the same thing to Alexei before he disappears amongst the throng of people. 

His words worry you a bit. But he’s right; if that giant Russian guy is still looking for you all, Alexei is likely to be the biggest target seeing as he’d be most familiar with him. And there’s no telling how many others may be out there searching. 

Alexei stands next to you, eyes taking in everything. They fall to you when you grasp his hand and begin leading him through the crowd. “Let’s go play a game.”

He repeats the word “game” under his breath in his cute accent before realization falls upon his face and a grin forms. “Да. Game.” His grip tightens around yours and leads you to the first game he finds. The balloon darts. 

Once it’s his turn, you tear off three tickets and hand them to the vendor before he hands Alexei three darts. The rules are pretty explanatory: hit five balloons of the same color and win a prize.

Alexei takes the darts and aims, easily hitting a first and second green balloon. The third almost misses, but manages to snag and pop the balloon. The fourth bursts just as easily as the others. You grin at him as the vendor hands him back one of the darts for his final throw. There is a cluster of children watching, intrigued at this man’s considerable prowess at dart throwing. 

“You can do it, mister!” One of the kids encourages. 

Alexei holds up the dart, measures the distance as he did with the others, and throws it. Everyone surrounding the booth watches with bated breath. 

_Pop!_

“You did it!” You praise, clapping your hands as he high-fives a couple of the kids. Alexei turns to you, a wide smile beaming on his face. With no preparation or forewarning, you’re lifted from your feet as Alexei hugs you tightly, spinning you once before replacing you onto the ground. 

A deep flush fills your cheeks as you laugh softly and watch him choose his prize. A giant plush Woody Woodpecker. 

As you both step away from the booth, Alexei’s hand finds its way back into yours while he leads you, presumably, to the next game he wants to try. 

The next round of fireworks begins to be set off, surging up into the sky and erupt into colorful arcs of sparkling light. Alexei has paused to watch the display, and you find yourself watching him; the colors glowing on his face and reflecting through the lenses of his glasses. An innocent sort of wonder softens his features, and your heart does something funny—an acrobatic routine of flips and spins that makes you breathe a little heavier. 

Alexei drops his gaze to you, his smile widening, and you’re moving before you can stop yourself, and in the midst of doing so,  you realize you don’t want to stop anyway. 

Gently, you cup his face in your free hand and lean in close to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He smells like cologne and a little like sweat—something you noticed earlier but didn’t quite appreciate until now. Fireworks burst into brilliant color behind you, but you find that something explodes with just as much heat and vibrancy inside your chest. 

As you pull away, Alexei stares at you in wide-eyed awe, no longer concerned with the fireworks. “Подожди— не отстраняйся. Еще нет.” His hand tightens around yours and tugs gently to pull you back in close. Your eyes wordlessly search his as he draws near, and you have only a moment to take a breath before his lips capture yours. A feeling like an electrical charge surges between your ribs, twisting and threading inside you until it reaches your heart and blossoms into a light show; rushing through your veins until you swear you’re glowing.  The noise of the carnival fades as the only sounds your ears pick up are the rushing of your blood and the increased tempo of both of your breathing. 

Alexei’s prize stuffed animal is squished between you both, and the felt beak presses into your neck, causing you to laugh lightly and finally pull back. You pat the stuffed toy on the head and offer Alexei a bashful smile. 

He grins down at you, saying, “Мне нравятся игры, но это была моя любимая часть.” 

Whatever it was he said, it’s said with certainty and joy, and you can’t help but feel a small swell of pride at contributing to his happiness, especially during such a tumultuous and precarious time. 

“Murray!” Alexei’s voice draws your attention behind you where you spot Murray with a few corn dogs in hand standing by the food stalls. 

“Смотри! Это не сфальсифицировано!”

Murray points with a grin and releases a laugh like Woody Woodpecker. 

You and Alexei walk towards Murray, weaving through the crowd. 

The following several moments blend together so strangely, part of you wonders if most of it even happened. 

A tall individual clothed in all black cuts through the milling crowd of people, moving with purpose, straight towards you. 

No. 

You recall that expressionless face; the cold and detached determination. 

He’s come for Alexei. 

You’re twisting in front of him and looking up into his face—he has no idea. 

You say his name, though you’re not sure if it’s aloud or merely spoken silently. 

You don’t hear the gun go off, no one does; there’s still fireworks being set off and the carnival-goers conceal most other noises. 

Then there’s the sharp pain, originating in your back and extending through your chest, and you gasp. 

Alexei stiffens.

“Предатель.”  Your eyes watch as the shooter keeps walking as though nothing happened, disappearing back into the crowd. 

Alexei presses against you as he grunts, and you frown, holding him up.  “Alexei?” You whisper as you look him over, eyes growing wide as you notice the deep red blotch of blood spreading on his abdomen. 

The bullet went right through you and hit him anyway. 

“No, no, no,” you mumble, panicking as you look over your shoulder. 

Murray drops everything and rushes over to you both. “Alexei! (Y/N)!” He grabs Alexei’s shoulder. “Oh, my God.” He takes a look at you, eyes growing wider in horror as he takes in the bloody mess that is spreading across your clothes.

You urgently shake your head. “I’ll be fine. Let's go.”

Alexei grunts in pain as you both lead him in between the stalls, carefully helping him sit down.

“Easy.” Murray shrugs off his button up and kneels down, placing the shirt against Alexei’s seeping wound. He looks at you. “You’re bleeding too. A lot.”

“I can heal, remember.” 

“Right, right.” He takes your hand and presses it to the shirt on Alexei’s wound. “Keep pressure on it. I'll get help.”

Murray scurries off, and you sit beside Alexei who is already growing alarmingly pale. You gently peel the shirt away, immediately taking note of all the blood pulsing from the wound and pressing the fabric back down as hard as you dare.  You look into his eyes, growing glossy and unfocused with the pain. “Alexei.” You wait until his head tilts to meet your eyes. “You’re going to be okay.” The wound doesn’t look good at all, and a surge of anger swells within you. What if the bullet hit something essential like an organ? Or an artery? Your hands are already becoming dyed red from all the blood, soaking right through Murray’s shirt. 

“Вы стояли перед пули, предназначенной для меня,” he weakly murmurs. “Почему ты бы так поступил?” 

You blink at him, watching as his hooded gaze falls to your own injury, already rapidly closing. “No, don’t worry about me. I’ll heal. I’m fine. One little bullet isn’t enough to stop me.” 

Alexei’s head leans back against the stall wall, lolling slightly. He’s losing consciousness. 

“Alexei.” You lightly pat his cheek growing slick with sweat. Your breathing increases as you try to think, eyes blurring with tears of frustration. You can’t leave him here. You won’t. Murray will come back with help eventually, right? But that Russian man is still out there. What if he finds you both here and he decides to take another shot at his target once he sees it hasn’t done its job yet?

Something pricks at your mind, a blip of a memory. From back in the lab. An experiment, a trial, an ability that was never fully explored.  Something Branner was very interested in.  It was always intriguing to test your own limits, but they were always contained within yourself, always seeing how your body reacted to injuries inflicted upon  _you_. 

But what about others? 

What was never confirmed was whether or not you’re capable of extending your ability beyond yourself; if you’re capable of healing others.  Now seems like as good a time as any to try. With no prior attempts of this, you have no idea of the strength and focus necessary. But you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t make an attempt. You’re not going to let Alexei die if you can help it. 

“Okay, Alexei, hold on, okay? I’m gonna try something.” 

You grip one of his hands in your own, his palm grown cold and clammy and his grip limp. With your other hand, you keep pressure on his injury, and close your eyes. 

_ Heal him._

A wrinkle forms between your brows as you focus, searching for that part of you that rapidly remedies every ache and pain that you experience. 

_ Heal him._

An ache builds at your temples, as if a strong pressure is building just inside your skull.  It’s like locating a color you can’t describe within a rainbow of kaleidoscopic shapes shifting in a never ending cycle. But you _know_ it , intimately. It has been with you for so long. It is never dormant. It is always waiting, always prepared—to fix, to mend, to cure. But it has always taken initiative when it is needed most to heal you and only you. 

Now it listens. Now it obeys.  Now your ability is something to be wielded, like a tool, and it is your own hand that controls where it goes and who it touches. 

_Heal him!_

You grit your teeth and push your ability into Alexei, coaxing it into submission and manipulating it, guiding it. Blood dribbles down from your nostril, and still you  _push_. 

“(Y/N)?” 

The voice comes from somewhere far away, like a fading echo in a long tunnel. 

“What is she—?”

“Oh my God...” 

Pinpricks of light build behind your eyelids, and the pain in your head  presses unbearably until you’re certain your skull is going to implode, and you hear an agonized scream. And then everything just...

...drops away beneath you... 

All sensations, all of your senses—

Just,  _stop_. 

And there’s nothing. 

All you know is falling into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Подожди— не отстраняйся. Еще нет. - Podozhdi— ne otstranyaysya. Yeshche net. - Wait— don’t move away. Not yet.  
* Мне нравятся игры, но это была моя любимая часть. - Mne nravyatsya igry, no eto byla moya lyubimaya chast'. - I like the games, but that was my favorite part.  
* Смотри! Это не сфальсифицировано! - Smotri! Eto ne sfal'sifitsirovano! - Look! It’s not rigged!  
* Предатель. - Predatel'. - Traitor.  
* Вы стояли перед пули, предназначенной для меня. Почему ты бы так поступил? - Vy stoyali pered puli, prednaznachennoy dlya menya. Pochemu ty by tak postupil? - You stood in front of a bullet meant for me. Why would you do that?


	9. Chapter 9

When you wake, you immediately realize you’re not in the fairgrounds anymore. It’s quiet, and you’re far too comfortable. There’s a residual ache raging in your head, and when you open your eyes, your retinas are assaulted with piercing light, eliciting a groan from your parched throat as you squeeze them closed again. 

“(Y/N)?” The accented voice perks up from beside you, and your heart jumps. 

“Alexei?” You croak, head lolling to the side to get a good look at him through squinted eyelids. 

He’s sitting in an arm chair placed beside the bed. Your eyes take him in, searching for anything out of place, any sign of his previous affliction. He appears perfectly fine. He looks like he’s showered recently; his curls are still damp and the light stubble that had begun to grow is gone. He’s changed clothes too, now wearing a plain white t-shirt beneath a plaid button-up and a pair of jeans. Your gaze stops at his chest, eyes narrowing slightly. Without any reservations, you reach out and press your fingertips to the exact spot he was shot. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make any sound of discomfort as you inspect the area. There isn’t so much as a patch of gauze. Nothing but smooth flesh beneath his shirt. 

“I did it,” you realize with a wobbly grin. 

Alexei captures your hand in his. “Я не знаю, как ты это сделал, но ты спас мне жизнь.” He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “Спасибо тебе мой ангел.” 

You release a soft rattling laugh at the endearment that descends into a rough cough. Alexei picks up a cup of water he must have already had prepared for you and offers it, only releasing it once you have both hands securely clasped around it. The cup is drained in seconds, and you suck in a breath. 

“Лучше? Вам нужно больше?” Alexei retrieves the cup and immediately stands to refill it. 

Without Murray around, it’s going to be a challenge understanding one another. You’re definitely going to need to get your hands on a Russian to English dictionary. 

Speaking of... 

Where is Murray? Where is  everyone ? What happened after you passed out? Did Joyce and Hopper find the kids? Did they find the facility beneath Starcourt? Did they shut off the machine? Is Hawkins safe from another tear? All of these questions buzz around on your tongue, but bombarding Alexei when he likely won’t understand won’t get you anywhere. 

Your eyes scan the room, finding the phone next to the television. With a light grunt, you fling off the blanket that was tucked around you, then throw your legs over the side of the bed and push to your feet. It’s only when you approach the phone that you notice in the mirror mounted upon the wall you’re no longer in the same clothes that you last recall being in. Instead you have on the oversized t-shirt you had in your bag—and nothing else it would seem. 

Alexei reenters the room as you stare befuddled at your reflection. His own eyes widen as he quickly realizes your train of thought, gesturing to your attire as he stutters, “Joyce помогла переодеться и привести себя в порядок. Я не хотел, чтобы ты сидел в одежде, залитой кровью.”

Your hands tug slightly at the shirt, pulling at the material to stretch it lower. The length easily hits your knees, but somehow standing in a room alone with a man you recently publicly displayed your affection for in a shirt you typically reserve for lounging (typically with bottoms on, might you add) makes you feel...shy. And a little insecure. 

“Joyce? She changed my clothes?” 

His brow wrinkles as he tries to translate in his head before finally nodding once. “Da. Joyce.” He places the refilled cup on the table and steps closer to you. “Okay?” 

You offer a gentle smile to ease the worry expressed on his face. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Alexei reaches out to cup your elbow in his hand, the other smoothing down your other arm and carefully taking your hand. “Вы меня очень беспокоили. Я не был уверен, что делать, когда ты потерял сознание. Я знаю, что вы меня не понимаете, но мне нужно, чтобы вы знали, что я благодарен. Вы действительно ангел.”

You release a soft laugh as you catch his use of the endearment again, timidly shuffling forward to press your forehead against his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and removes his hands from your arms only to wrap them tenderly around you, holding you against him with security and warmth. Your own arms loop beneath his to hug him around his waist, head turning so your cheek is snug against him. Even just standing still like this, with no one else around, no fireworks exploding in the background, no other sound besides the cartoons playing on the TV with the volume down low, that intoxicating electrical charge reawakens between your bones and coils through your system until the hairs on your arms are vibrating with it. 

Across the room from where you both stand, you notice it’s dark outside through the small gap between the curtains pulled over the window. Is it still the same night? You must not have been out for long, and you still need to check in with the others. Though you have no idea where they might be right now. A quick flick of your eyes back towards the bedside table gives you a glimpse of the clock. It’s a little after one in the morning. 

You need to know they’re all okay. 

Detaching yourself from Alexei’s embrace, you turn and search for your bag. After finding it resting on the floor next to the bed, you scoop it up and rifle through it, pulling out the cotton shorts stuffed at the bottom. Something about the lack of contact makes you tremble with anxiety. You don’t like not knowing what has happened, or is possibly happening right now. You sit on the bed and pull on your shoes that you pick up from beside the door. 

Alexei watches you scurry about the room, pushing his glasses up as he frowns slightly. “Куда ты направляешься?” 

With a brief but meaningful glance at him, you stand and point at the door. “Joyce. Hopper. Murray. I have to know they’re alright.” 

His frown eases until there’s just a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Они все еще на объекте. Торговый центр.”

“Starcourt shouldn’t be too far if we’re at the motel in town.” You zip your bag shut and sling it over your shoulders before moving for the door. It’s only when you unlock it and twist the handle that something occurs to you. 

Behind you, Alexei hasn’t moved. He’s still wearing that small frown, appearing uncertain and a little uneasy. 

He doesn’t want to leave the motel. 

After being shot and nearly dying, it’s not at all unreasonable for him to be wary about being out in the open again. Neither of you know if his former comrades are still milling around Hawkins, eager to take out the defector. But you need to find your family. Should you leave him here for now? It doesn’t feel right; both choices leave the other hanging and potentially vulnerable. Regardless, you have to choose. 

Your hands shake with restlessness as you return to Alexei. “I’m going to go find them.” A tiny smile meant to reassure him lifts your lips. “I’ll be back soon.” To seal your words, you grasp his arms and lean in to place a tender kiss to his lips. 

A soft sigh escapes his mouth as his hands gently grip your elbows, and you have to force yourself to pull away before you get lost in him all over again. Alexei watches you step back and return to the door, finally opening it and exiting into the warm and humid July morning.

*******

Thankfully, the motel is the one you were counting on it to be on Melvald Boulevard, and the walk to Starcourt will be easy enough. Keeping a brisk pace, you grip the straps of your bag over your shoulders, determined to reach the mall sooner than later. However, as you grow closer, you’re able to make out thick dark gray clouds billowing up in the distance. Smoke. It towers into the sky, coming from the direction of your destination. And you break into a run. 

Starcourt rests on its own plot of land near the edge of town, detached from the rest of Hawkins’ shops lined down the main street. The road runs right by it, and the closer you get, the more you realize that something has major has happened there. 

Lights flash against the wide copse of trees bordering the area, outlining them from the other side in colors of red and blue. Police? Ambulances? There’s beams of brighter white lights that you notice too. Spotlights, perhaps? Could Hopper’s request for military assistance have followed through and shown up? 

As you finally pass the tree line blocking view of the building, you skid to a stop. 

Shit. 

There has to be at least a dozen military helicopters in the parking lot, and half that many emergency vehicles scattered near the entrance. Starcourt itself is on fire, and two fire trucks are at work to put out the flames. The building looks damn near demolished. Even from where you’re standing you can tell something big caused that kind of damage. 

Which brings you back to the task at hand. 

No one seems to notice you slipping past towards the front of the cluster of vehicles. Your goal is the ambulances. Hopefully everyone is there. After the last brushes with the Upside-Down, medical care was always one of the first things everyone involved was subjected to. Regardless if any of you were physically hurt or not, everyone was thoroughly checked over. Ideally, that is the case here.

From behind one of the police cars, you peek around in an attempt to get a good look at the ambulances. If it weren’t for the flashing lights and fire still burning, you wouldn’t be able to see much of anything in the dark, but as it is, you make out several people in casual clothes, some smaller in stature than others. Kids. What in the hell are kids doing here? Roving your gaze, you find yourself searching for Hopper’s larger frame, seeing as he’s the easiest to pick out in a crowd. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The harsh and demanding voice startles you so strongly you actually jump as you spin around. A soldier in fatigues glares down at you, a rifle in his hands. 

Words trip on your tongue, causing you to stutter before finally getting out, “My family is over there.”

“You need to leave. Now.” The soldier adjusts his hold on his gun, cradling it with purpose. With intent.

He’s trying to intimidate you, but with the initial shock of being found sneaking through wearing off, you’re able to think more clearly. He isn’t going to actually shoot you. Not that it will stop you. For all he knows you’re just a nosy civilian. “Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers. Are they over there?” You point to indicate the ambulances.

The soldier merely flicks his gaze in the direction you’re gesturing to. “This area is now restricted and is closed off to the public until further notice. If you do not leave on your own, I will have to escort you out.” 

You swallow uneasily as frustration builds in the back of your throat, causing pressure to build behind your eyes. “If you could have someone confirm that they’re here, then that shouldn’t be necessary. I’ll even wait right here. I won’t move. I just want to find my family. I need to know they’re okay.” 

The soldier doesn’t appear swayed by your request, remaining stony faced and unmoved as he takes a step into your personal space. “Leave.  _Now_.” 

Tears fill the waterline of your eyes as your features transform into a sneer. “Fine. Shoot me if it makes you feel better. I’m going to my family.” 

Something dumbfounded crosses the soldier’s face, and it’s that expression that you turn away from to continue your approach to the ambulances. 

_Bang!_

You jerk forward as pain shoots out through your sternum from behind, and you stumble with a grimace, placing your palm over the wound. Blood is already seeping through your shirt, creating a huge deep red blotch across your chest, and likely across your back as well. 

The gunshot draws the attention of just about everyone in the parking lot. There are bellowed shouts of “hold your fire!” mixed with both relieved and horrified cries of your name. Several other soldiers surround you before one individual in particular steps in front of you, dressed in a different uniform than the others as they grab your shoulders. 

“(Y/N)! What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Murray?” You look him over. He appears to be fine. Not physically hurt anyway. “What happened? Did you destroy the key?” You attempt to peer around him. “Where’s Joyce and Hopper? Why are the kids here? Is El here?” 

His mouth drops open, floundering for a moment before addressing the soldiers. “She’s with us. We got separated. Ask Dr. Owens if you’re not convinced.” That seems to sate them enough because they back off, giving you both space so Murray can guide you to the others. “You okay?” 

You pull your bloodied hand from your chest, noticing the hole in your shirt and the sealed flesh underneath. “Mhm.” You drop your hand, wiping the residual wetness off. “Dr. Owens is here too?” You suppose it shouldn’t be too big of a surprise that he has shown up, seeing as he was an integral part of the MKUltra Project and would likely still be keeping a close eye on any potential threats and developments concerning the Upside-Down despite the Hawkins Lab being shut down. For all you know, it isn’t the only lab in the country conducting experiments and studies on dimensional anomalies now that the government is aware of the existence of multiple dimensions. Perhaps not even the only one with human subjects. That thought alone sends a heavy shudder through you. 

“(Y/N)!”

You barely have time to brace yourself before a body collides with yours, sending you back a step while arms fling around you and a head of brown hair enters your vision. “El?” You crane your neck back to look at her. The glimpse of her watery red eyes and wet cheeks makes you go cold. “El, what happened? The gate was sealed, right?” She seems to want to say something, but her bottom lip quivers so hard she can’t get it out. You send a lost look over her head, managing to catch Joyce’s sorrowed gaze from the back of an ambulance with Will and Jonathan at her side. 

Something is very wrong. 

Your fingers stroke El’s back, rubbing comfortingly as a medic approaches you, only for them to be veered away by Murray who assures them the bullet didn’t hit you. Nearby next to the other ambulances, you notice Dustin, Steve, and an unfamiliar girl standing together while Lucas, Erica, and Max are by another, with the redhead appearing particularly distraught as she stands hunched with her hands pressed to her face. Nancy stands beside Jonathan, her head resting wearily on his shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you see Mike coming towards you and El. Maybe he’ll give you some answers.

“Mike,” you start quietly, “what happened?” 

He purses his lips in uncertainty, meeting El’s gaze from where she’s rested her head against your shoulder. “Hopper is gone...”

You blink, eyes rolling away for a moment, not quite understanding his meaning. “Where did he go?” 

El’s arms tighten around you. 

“The—uh, the tear...the gate. When it, um, closed...the key—the machine—exploded, and he was—“

El shudders in your arms, her quiet sobs muffled by your shirt. 

All of the blood drains from your face. “W-Wait.” You shake your head, feeling weirdly lightheaded. “What do you mean?” 

Murray steps up behind Mike and places his hands on his shoulders, steering him back to his friends as he wordlessly gestures for you to follow. Carefully, you pull El back just enough to instead wrap a single arm around her and follow Murray to where Joyce is seated in the back of an ambulance with her sons. 

El has one hand gripping yours while her other is held by Mike. Her silence is worrying you, and you reach over to brush her hair back from her face, the strands wet with tears. Murray wrings his hands together, appearing uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Joyce has been crying too, something you realize now that you’re closer, and it only strengthens the cinching ache in your chest.

“What  happened ?” You ask earnestly, desperate to know the truth but also afraid of it. You need to hear it from them, to confirm it. 

The others begin migrating closer, until you’re all grouped around the Byers. Joyce wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, pressing a kiss to Will’s head before meeting your eyes. “Hopper is dead.” 

It’s what you were waiting to hear, but your heart plunges all the same. Tears you weren’t even aware of break free and stream down your cheeks. “Where is he?” You manage to get out with a hiccup. 

Joyce shakes her head, clenching her eyes shut. “There’s no body, (Y/N). And even if there was...” 

She doesn’t need to say it. There’s a lot you still don’t know about your abilities, but one thing you are certain of is that you cannot bring the dead back to life. No human being is capable of breathing life into death. It’s a destination that is permanent and irreversible. 

El’s hand tightens around yours. “It’s my fault.” 

Everyone looks at her with various levels of incredulity and confusion. “Why are you blaming yourself?” Mike admonishes her. 

You’re fully aware of El’s feelings of guilt about initially making contact with the Upside-Down all those years ago, and the resulting events of doing so. She’s always fearlessly stepped up when needed most to defend and fix the mistakes brought about because of it, but hearing her berate herself for the tragedies that have occurred due to her accidental interaction with the other dimension doesn’t sit well with you. “You aren’t responsible for the consequences of things you were manipulated and coerced into.” 

“Hop knew what he was getting into,” Joyce reveals to El, methodically running her fingers through Will’s hair. “He knew the risks. And he loved you enough to do it anyway. He wanted you safe.” 

“But he’s still gone,” she whispers brokenly, and nobody has anything to say to that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Я не знаю, как ты это сделал, но ты спас мне жизнь. - Ya ne znayu, kak ty eto sdelal, no ty spas mne zhizn. - I don’t know how you did it, but you saved my life.   
* Спасибо тебе мой ангел. - Spasibo tebe moy angel. - Thank you my angel.   
* Лучше? Вам нужно больше? - Luchshe? Vam nuzhno bol'she? - Is it better? Do you need more?  
* Joyce помогла переодеться и привести себя в порядок. Я не хотел, чтобы ты сидел в одежде, залитой кровью. - Joyce pomogla pereodet'sya i privesti sebya v poryadok. YA ne khotel, chtoby ty sidel v odezhde, zalitoy krov'yu. - Joyce helped change and clean you up. I didn’t want you to sit in clothes covered in blood.  
* Вы меня очень беспокоили. Я не был уверен, что делать, когда ты потерял сознание. Я знаю, что вы меня не понимаете, но мне нужно, чтобы вы знали, что я благодарен. Вы действительно ангел. - Vy menya ochen' bespokoili. YA ne byl uveren, chto delat', kogda ty poteryal soznaniye. YA znayu, chto vy menya ne ponimayete, no mne nuzhno, chtoby vy znali, chto ya blagodaren. Vy deystvitel'no angel. - You really had me worried. I wasn’t sure what to do when you passed out. I know that you don’t understand me, but in need you to know that I am grateful. You really are an angel.   
* Куда ты направляешься? - Kuda ty napravlyayesh'sya? - Where are you going?  
* Они все еще на объекте. Торговый центр. - Oni vse yeshche na ob"yekte. Torgovyy tsentr. - They’re still at the facility. The mall.


	10. Chapter 10

You’ve taken a seat on the ground, your legs crossed and back hunched as you unbraid your hair, methodically running your fingers through the tresses until you feel fewer tangles. What you really need is a shower, seeing as you’re sticky with sweat and can feel the telltale crustiness of blood in clumps of your hair. 

A few minutes ago, another medic approached you and dropped off a towel and bottle of water, which you’ve since used to wipe off the dried blood from your hand and chest. Nothing can be done for the shirt though. The holes aren’t big, hardly noticeable actually, but the blood makes you look like a murder suspect. You don’t have any other extra clothes either, so until you get your hands on a clean outfit, you’re stuck looking like you stepped out of a slasher film. 

“Did Alexei stay put?” Murray has wandered over to you, leaning his shoulder against the ambulance you sit by. He’s taken off the Soviet military hat and coat, and the shirt is unbuttoned, hanging open over the plain white t-shirt underneath. 

You lean back on your palms and peer up at the man. “Yeah. He’s still in the motel room. I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to leave it right now anyway, seeing as—“ you cant your head towards the clusters of US soldiers meandering the perimeter. 

Murray nods in agreement, rubbing at his forehead, appearing as if he’s developed a strong headache. “Right, right. Yet another hurdle to get over.” 

You release a small sigh. “How did this all even happen?” Your question is spoken openly, albeit quietly and mostly to yourself, not really expecting an answer, but Murray decides to respond. 

“The plan went awry when the code for the vault to the keys was wrong.  _I_ was wrong.” He rubs his eyes beneath his glasses. “At that point you and Alexei were both still out cold.”

“But you got the right code somehow.”

“We did, eventually. Had to get it from one of the kids’ friends from out of state, and by the time we got it, that damn Russian Goliath had caught up to Joyce and Hopper.” Murray sounds greatly upset. Despite the strained relationship between him and Hopper, they were still something resembling friends—or, well, could have been eventually. He blames himself, you realize, watching forlornly as he walks off again. 

Your gaze drops back to your lap, realizing that everyone in some way feels responsible for what has happened to Hopper— _maybe if I were quick enough; maybe if I were more clever; maybe if I were stronger; maybe if I were braver, he would still be with us_ —and you feel no different. Could he have survived if you had a better grasp of your abilities? Would you have still passed out if you were more experienced with their limits and familiar with your own potential? 

Until last night, you had no idea that you are capable of sharing your ability with others. If you weren’t so determined to forget the origins of your powers and instead embraced them the way El has, could you have healed Alexei and yourself and still been on your feet to finish the fight with the others? Could you have prevented this loss? 

A tightness appears in your chest, and you breathe deeply to ease the pressure as it draws fresh tears to your eyes. 

“(Y/N)?”

The voice sounds less than a little uncertain, and you watch as a shadow approaches until it is upon you. Watery eyes flicking up, you blink and take in Max standing before you, looking both exhausted and somehow determined with her arms crossed tightly. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She lowers herself to sit beside you, tucking her knees up to her chest. It looks like she’s been through a scuffle; her knees are red and appear a little bruised, her hair is falling out of their braids, there’s even a little bit of blood on her shirt. 

“What happened in there, Max?” Obviously, while Murray, Joyce, and Hopper were taking care of the key in the facility beneath the mall, something was going on to keep everyone else so busy and leaving them all so ruffled up. Hell, El has her calf wrapped up. Something obviously went down inside of the mall too. 

The girl rests her chin against her arms folded across her knees, closing her eyes for a minute as she appears to collect her thoughts. “We fought the mind flayer.” 

Your eyes grow so wide you wonder if the prosthetic will pop out of your head and roll away across the parking lot. That is definitely not what you were expecting to hear. “How the hell did that happen? I thought it was banished back into the Upside-Down last year.”

“It was here the whole time, apparently.” She sniffles lightly, staring out across the lot. “It got my brother.” 

“Billy?” 

Max nods, barely able to keep her face straight before her expression crumbles and she presses it into her arms. “It possessed him. It, like, took over his mind and made him do a lot of bad stuff. Tried to make him kill El.” Her voice breaks. “He fought it. With every last inch of himself that was left, he broke free of the mind flayer’s control for just a minute to save El instead, and it came after him for it.” 

An awed frown pulls at your features, but you don’t say anything. You aren’t sure what  to say. You can’t recall the boy much, seeing as you haven’t interacted with him very often beyond that time last year during the last incident with the Upside-Down, and that didn’t leave a very good impression on you. He seemed like a massive dick. But, regardless, you wouldn’t wish that kind of death on anyone. 

Finally, you offer, surprised, “He saved El?” At Max’s nod, you continue, shuffling closer to the girl, “I wish I could thank him...” You nudge her gently with your shoulder. It would have been far too painful to lose both Hopper and your sister in a single night. 

“You can, though.” 

You frown slightly, cocking your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You  _can_ help Billy, right?” Max pleads, her fists clenching and unclenching. “Joyce said you healed some Russian guy, so you can heal Billy too, right?”

Your heart tightens with pity, and you find yourself shaking your head, mouth falling open as you try to find the words. “I can’t bring back the dead, Max...”

“But he’s  _not_ dead,” she beseeches. “Not yet. He’s in an ambulance. That doctor guy has people keeping him alive for now. But they won’t let me see him, and last time I asked they said he doesn’t have much longer.”

“I healed someone other than myself for the first time last night, Max. I can’t exactly control it well, and I don’t know how it will affect me.”

“You won’t even try?” Her voice strains, both agonized and angry, squeaking with effort to avoid crying but sounding on the verge of fresh tears. “He saved El, and you won’t try to save him?”

You gape helplessly as your own eyes well up. For the longest time, you felt as though your abilities had no real usefulness, seeing as outside the lab you never expected to live a hazardous lifestyle. You’ve always thought that regenerative healing was second-rate compared to El’s telekinesis and telepathy, but Brenner’s intentions for you couldn’t have merely been to simply give you the power to keep yourself unharmed. He was too ambitious and self-serving for that. So to give you the ability to heal others as well... That would make you far more useful and valuable, especially when attempting to replicate and bottle your abilities to manufacture was a failure. A soldier that heals fellow soldiers. It was always his intention to set his subjects upon those who posed a threat to America, and when El made contact with the Upside-Down, much of the lab’s work was halted to focus on that and how it might be weaponized. But that research, too, turned out to be far more than Brenner could handle. It seems to be a frequent truth of ambitious men that believe that their mere ambition is enough to contain and control that which they don’t understand. 

Besides, Brenner isn’t around anymore. No one can tell you what you can and cannot do with the power given to you against your will. It’s part of you now, and only you can decide how it’s used. And you decide you’ll try and help give others another chance where life has taken more from them than they deserve. 

You level your gaze with Max’s, jaw set. “Where is he?”


	11. Chapter 11

Turns out, Dr. Owens is just as curious about your abilities as pretty much everyone else is, and allows you to enter Billy’s ambulance with the condition that he observes your process of healing him. 

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but you, Max, and Dr. Owens manage to arrange yourselves around the gurney that Billy lies upon. Max was adamant about witnessing it as well, if only to be there for her brother when he wakes up. If this goes as planned, that is. 

Billy looks awful. Max said it was bad, but this... He’s pale, more pale than you’ve ever seen anyone. Sweat clings to his skin as if he’s been fighting off a fever; or possibly an infection. He’s hooked up to an IV, but you’re not sure what good it’ll do at this point if he’s already so close to death. There’s a fine trembling coursing through his body as you stop beside his shoulder and begin to assess the damage of his wounds. Several large punctures are scattered across his torso, cleaned and patched up as well as they can be with the equipment at their disposal inside the ambulance. A dark substance nearly has all of the gauze soaked through. It’s definitely not normal blood—it appears black.

Max said he had been possessed by the mind flayer, and controlled like a puppet. Did that somehow change parts of his physiology? Will that make trying to heal him harder? 

You lower yourself to sit on the bench built into the walls of the vehicle, one hand grasping the side of the gurney while the other reaches forward to delicately peel back the nearest patch of gauze. 

“What are you doing?” Max demands, appalled, though you notice she’s looking the other way, likely not wanting to see her brother’s wounds more than she already has. 

“It might make it easier for me if I know what I’m dealing with exactly.” When she doesn’t say anything more, you pull the bandage off. And nearly gag at the sight. 

The hole is pretty deep, and it’s wide. The edges of the injury are serrated and red in irritation with dark inky veins scattered outward like strikes of lightning beneath his skin. Pus is building around the edges of the torn flesh. He must have been pierced like this multiple times. 

How in the hell is he still breathing?

You turn your head away for a moment to swallow heavily and take a deep steadying breath before addressing Max and Dr. Owens. “I’m not entirely sure how this will impact me, but seeing as the last time I tried it I passed out, just be prepared for it to happen again.” Falling unconscious is not something you want to experience again for the second time in less than 24 hours, but if it comes down to someone literally dying and you dozing for a couple hours in order to save them, it seems like a pretty fair trade off. Your only reservations are that you’re not certain that losing consciousness is the only side effect, seeing as you’ve only done it once before. Also, Billy’s injuries were caused by an inter-dimensional creature; you have no idea how your abilities might interact with something like this. 

But you said you’d try. 

Carefully, you place your hand over Billy’s exposed wound. Hovering, but not directly touching, you hone in on that place within you, eyes sliding closed and letting everything fall away until it is just you and Billy. Your heartbeat, strong and steady, and his, a fragile rhythm desperately keeping him tethered. But it is failing, slowly, and you feel it weakening, slipping away; can taste his pulse on the back of your throat growing faint. 

You reach deep inside where you find his lifeline frayed and sinking into an endless darkness, and you  _grasp_ it. It tugs—it is  _heavy_—but you hold on and  _pull_. 

Teeth grinding together, distantly you can hear yourself panting with the effort. The lifeline yanks against your hold, and you grunt, bracing your other hand on the gurney’s rail. Back bowed, you struggle to lead him back, when something dark and vile coils around you and squeezes like a python around its prey. 

Your progress halts, your grip still firm around Billy’s lifeline. But the appendage tightens, and it is like your entire being is being strangled, cutting into you. In a desperate attempt to escape, you jerk, and your head explodes with sharp pain, and you  _scream_. 

It’s difficult to breathe, and somehow you can feel your corporeal body shaking hard. For a moment you consider letting go of Billy. For a moment you panic. 

Then you see them. Fireworks. Bursting and glittering with gorgeous color in the darkness, their wisps of fire and light fall upon you from above, and in every place they touch the obstruction holding you hostage, it melts away, falling into the abyss. 

And you’re free. 

With a final pull full of effort and an ache within that you weren’t sure you could feel, you lead Billy back to the surface. Back to life. 

A heavy gasp bursts from your lips as you flail back, your head hitting the wall. You wince, hands cupping your face as you try to retrieve your breath as if you’ve been sprinting faster and longer than you’re capable. 

You’re still shaking, and a blanket is placed around you as you gather yourself, eyes focused intently on Billy. He already appears more alive; his skin is retaining its color, and, more notably, the punctures are gone. 

But he’s still not moving.

“Are you alright?” Dr. Owens’ voice sounds a little echoey, as if cotton is stuffed in your ears. But you give it a few moments, and your hearing clears.

“I think so.”

Max is leaning over her brother, watching for any sign of his condition improving. “You did it,” she murmurs, voice sounding choked up. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

You shake your head lightly and explain, “It might take a little while before he wakes up.” The back of your hand swipes at your nose, smearing the worryingly large amount blood that has dribbled out. 

Dr. Owens turns to examine Billy, peeling back the other patches of gauze, revealing smooth unblemished skin. 

Max gawks at her brother, then looks at you. “How long?” 

“I don’t know, Max.” 

She purses her lips, looking like she wants to say more, but decides to keep her mouth shut.

You don’t blame her. She’s anxious. She’s scared. She doesn’t understand what you did. No one does. It was different than when you healed Alexei. Perhaps because Billy was connected to the mind flayer? Maybe an echo of its influence, a residual link, still remained. It should be gone now though, blown away like smoke in the wind. 

You shiver hard. You don’t want to know what might have happened if it had kept its hold on you for any longer. 

Dr. Owens pauses a moment to pass a cloth to you, and you take it to wipe the blood from your face. Max remains huddled near her brother while he’s examined, watching closely at everything done to him. 

“All of his vitals are normal,” Dr. Owens announces, trying not to sound surprised but failing. “Physically, he’s fine. I’d like to do some bloodwork to be completely sure, but for all intents and purposes, he’s entirely healthy.” He looks at you. “I’d like a sample of your blood as well, if you’re alright with it.”

You’re shaking your head fiercely before he’s even completed his sentence. You know what the implications of that are. First it’s a blood sample, then it’s a thorough physical examination, then a surgical evaluation, until you’re being subjected to experiments and trials all over again. “ _No._ ” 

“But you—“ He stops himself, apparently realizing the reason for your apprehension. “Of course.” 

A soft groan emanates from the gurney, and Max leans over her brother, eyes wide and glossy. “Billy?” 

You watch, stunned, as he shifts in place before his eyes flutter open, revealing a clear and cognizant slate blue. Even the dark bags beneath his eyes are gone. His gaze blearily searches the ceiling of the ambulance before shifting to his sister’s face. 

“Max.” 

The girl breaks then, tears breaching her eyes as a wide relieved smile pulls at her cheeks. She collapses into Billy as he begins to sit up, him catching her with an arm and a confused laugh but returning her embrace all the same. 

“How in the hell am I here?” He wonders aloud, his eyes moving from Max to Dr. Owens, then to you.

“(Y/N) saved you,” Max explains with a sniffle, pulling back to look at you. 

Billy frowns, appearing to try and remember the events that led him here. “But I... That thing. It—“ He releases Max and looks down at his own torso, patting at his undamaged flesh, eyes comically wide. “What the fuck.” He flicks his gaze to yours. “How?”

Dr. Owens decides to step in, “That is a matter of great confidentiality, Mr. Hargrove.” He directs a look at you. “Thank you Miss Byers. I’ll take it from here.” 

As you stand up and turn to exit, Billy’s voice catches your attention behind you. “Thank you.”

A small smile is sent over your shoulder, and you open the doors to step out of the ambulance. The pavement feels a little uneven beneath your feet, but you’re all too welcoming of the temporary vertigo. You’d much rather be a little lightheaded than unconscious. Does this mean the more you use your ability, the stronger you become? Like a muscle, if you exercise it, will it become more powerful? Could you someday reverse the effects of even the worst of ailments? Perhaps even death?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut is here, folks! Enjoy, you fiends! ✌🏽

While you make your way back to the others, you feel the harrowing atmosphere fall upon you all over again as if it is mixed in the humid air. Everyone looks absolutely exhausted, both physically and emotionally. 

“El,” you call, noticing your sister is limping. How did you not notice that?

She stops at the sound of her name, turning towards you as you approach. “Where did you go?” 

“I, uh, helped Billy.” Her eyes bulge, and she looks prepared to blurt out something, but you hurriedly talk before her. “What happened to your leg?” You bend down to examine the freshly wrapped wound.

“The mind flayer,” she replies, as if it’s no big deal.

Now it’s your turn to balk. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You flap your hands at her to sit down. “This should be easy to heal.” 

Her mouth drops open as you detach the bandage. “You don’t have to—“

“Shut it.” It’s a pretty big gash, looks like it was deep too. You scowl at the sight. “It got you good.” 

El nods in agreement, watching as you cup your hand over the wound. Your tongue sticks out between your lips as you concentrate, eyes shutting. It’s somehow easier this time, spiraling into yourself and locating that part of you, coaxing it up and out to touch and heal your sister. It’s a part of you, extending out to briefly share your power. 

A sigh leaves your lips when you pull back and open your eyes. El’s leg appears untouched, not a scratch remaining. 

She stares at her shin, running a hand up and down the skin before lifting her eyes to meet yours. “Is Billy alive?”

Your eyes automatically dart towards the ambulance he’s still inside, drawing in a deep breath. “Yeah. He’s alive.” 

El’s face lights up, and she leans forward to brace herself against your legs. “You  _healed_ him?” She whispers in awe. Her eyes fall back down to her own leg, nail scratching lightly over the freshly mended wound as her face falls. “I thought he was dead...” A tone a lot like shame sours the words.

“He almost was. I wasn’t sure I could do it.” You reach out to fondly tuck her hair behind her ears as it falls into her face. 

El playfully swats at your hands. “But you did. Badass.”

You huff out a laugh, rubbing your eyes and suddenly realizing how  tired you are. “Do you have any idea when we all get to leave?” 

El shrugs, shifting to situate herself next to you and drowsily drop her head on your shoulder. “Soon, I hope.” 

“I hope so too.” 

*******

Turns out, “soon” isn’t for another three and a half hours. Dr. Owens finally releases everyone to return home with the reminder that everything that happened at Starcourt tonight is a matter of national security and is of the upmost confidentiality. No one doubts that the military will be right back in town in force to intervene if anyone lets anything leak. 

As for what happened to Hopper, the short answer is that he died in the fire. Any further details is up to Dr. Owens and the cooperation of the United States government to smooth out. All you know is that Hopper is gone; any further debriefing is unnecessary because no one was even supposed to be at Starcourt, and you’re all just expected to be as shocked by the events as everyone else in Hawkins once the coverup story hits the news. It’ll inevitably be written up as yet another tragedy to touch the town. 

You return to the motel with Murray while El leaves with the Byers. For the time being, she’ll be staying along with you in their home. Part of you is relieved that she is going to be nearby after all that’s happened, but the circumstances make you wish she didn’t have to stay, if only it would mean that Hopper were still around. 

The sky is beginning to grow various shades of blue and purple along the horizon when you arrive to the room. The sun is beginning to rise. Somehow the sight makes you feel even more weary. 

When you enter, Alexei is wide awake, sitting on the edge of the bed watching TV. His head jerks towards the door as it opens, and he pushes to his feet, meeting you halfway and taking a moment to look you over—bloodstained shirt and messily braided hair—before gathering you up into a hug, his face pressed into the crown of your head. 

“Вы в порядке...” He sounds relieved, taking a few moments to simply hold you close before shifting to look at Murray over your head. “Что случилось? Вам удалось выключить ключ?”

Murray exhales heavily behind you as he closes the door. 

You allow yourself to lean into Alexei, the weight of the last few days finally settling upon you. 

“Мы сделали. Но мы потеряли Jim.” 

Alexei stiffens slightly at Murray’s reply. “Мне жаль.”

Gently peeling yourself away, you send him a small affectionate smile before glancing at Murray. “Go ahead and give him an update. I’m gonna go take a bath. I feel disgusting.” Picking up your bag, you slip into the bathroom. Once the door is shut, you begin to fill the bath up. 

Gradually, you slip off your clothes, and manage to catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. There’s nothing you can see physically that would indicate all you’ve been through. Due to your abilities, not even the exhaustion you feel is evidenced by dark circles beneath your eyes the way it would anyone else. Technically, you can go for an indeterminate amount of time without sleep, but it is something you enjoy far too much to even consider giving up. 

Steam slowly fills the room, fogging up the mirror. You shut off the water and finally step in, sliding down to sit and begin ridding yourself of the build up of sweat, dirt, and blood. It feels good to scrub yourself down. When you lie back to soak your hair after thoroughly cleaning it, the lack of sound beneath the water is soothing, and you close your eyes for a moment. 

_Knock knock._

Your brows knit, and you peel open your eyes to look at the door. 

“(Y/N)?” Alexei’s muffled voice comes from the other side. 

“Yeah?” You sit up, realizing how tepid the water has become.  _How long have I been in here?_ You wonder, chagrined. “I’ll be out in a minute!” 

Quickly, you stand and wring out your hair before drying off and redressing. It’s a little gross putting the dirty clothes back on, but you have little choice with nothing else to wear. 

Finally, you open the door and step out into the room while drying your hair with a towel. Instantly, you notice that Alexei is the only one in the room with you again. A brief glimpse of the clock says 8:07am. Replacing your bag on the floor, you approach him and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. 

“Murray сказал, чтобы дать это тебе.” He offers you a folded piece of paper. 

You merely nod and accept the note, opening it and reading the writing upon it. 

_Gone to run a few errands. Will be back around noon. Be gentle with Alexei. He isn’t as indestructible as you._ —Murray

Rolling your eyes as your face flushes, you refold the paper and toss it onto the dresser. Alexei looks from the paper, to you, watching intently as you begin to run your fingers through your damp hair to rid of any tangles. 

“Вы невероятная женщина. Такой красивый и добрый. Я не заслуживаю знать тебя.”

You don’t quite know what he said, but his soft tone of voice and his gaze portraying something like longing and reverence makes your pulse quicken. “I truly hope you said something sweet, because I kind of really want to kiss you.” You laugh quietly as the pillow of your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth. 

Alexei’s heavy gaze zones in on your mouth, and the memory of your previous kiss flickers through your minds eye, sending your heartbeat thrumming with anticipation as he seems to debate closing the distance, perhaps wanting to be certain that what he feels is requited. 

Gently, you take his hand resting on his thigh and lift it towards your face, tilting your head to lightly press your cheek into his palm, keeping your eyes trained on his. He seems to grasp your intentions and glides his fingers through your hair until his hand is cupping the base of your neck at the back of your head. 

And then he’s pulling you in as he leans forward, and when his lips meet yours, your entire body ignites. Your hand releases his, instead sliding up his forearm and gripping his bicep. His hand at the back of your neck presses lightly to tilt your head, and his mouth slants over yours more fully. Heat rages beneath your cheeks when his tongue presses between your parted lips and finds yours. 

_Closer, closer_ _,_ you urge, inching yourself to close the space between your bodies. You’re not exactly experienced in this department, but you figure your body understands what you want on an instinctual level. And Alexei seems to know what he’s doing, if the way his lips coax yours is any hint.

It’s only when he pulls back to give you space to breathe for a moment that you realize you’re panting lightly. But all you want is his mouth back on yours. 

Pushing yourself further onto the bed, you rise to your knees and reach out to cradle Alexei’s jaw in your hands. He watches you, utterly besotted, and allows himself to be drawn back in to kiss you deeply. His hands find your hips, to both steady you and lead you closer. It’s only when your leg is guided across his lap that the realization of where this could lead hits you. Somehow it only excites you more. 

You want this. You want  _him. _It’s the only thing that you’re completely and utterly certain of. 

Lightly, you suckle on his bottom lip as you rest yourself in his lap. With your legs on either side of his hips, it’s quite easy to feel the firm bulge at his groin against your own crotch. A soft sigh escapes you at the most wonderful pressure it elicits, and you squirm. The sensation only builds the more you press into him, and your hands find his shoulders as you move your hips back and forth against his. 

Alexei’s hands slide to your waist, bunching up your shirt in the process, and when his bare palm slips to the small of your back, a wave of delicious heat flares in your stomach, and you moan softly. 

“Это хорошо, ангел?” He murmurs, his lips falling from yours to glide down the curve of your jaw and throat. When his other hand disappears beneath your shirt, you decide it feels like a hindrance on your body, an unwelcome weight and barrier between you both, but Alexei already seems to have the same idea. He slowly pushes the fabric up until you lift your arms, and he pulls it off only to drop it on the floor. 

His gaze falls to your chest, covered by the thin layer of fabric that is your bra, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs before he’s leaning in to latch his mouth to your throat, evoking a gasp from you as he suckles at the flesh there. He descends his kisses down and delivers another suck at your clavicle. When his lips brush the swell of your breasts, you sink your teeth into your lip as another flare lights up inside you. 

It’s your own fingers this time that reach back to unclasp your bra, and when it goes slack against your chest, Alexei blinks at it, and then at you, before a cheeky grin curls at his lips and he holds your gaze while pulling it off to let it fall wherever your shirt went. 

Your nipples prickle in the open air, tightening and puckering, and you watch as Alexei slides his hand up your side and skirts his thumb in a tight circle around your areola. When he moves in to take your other nipple into his warm mouth, another moan escapes you and prompts your body into pressing firmly against his, your hips beginning to vigorously grind into his once more. 

You find your head canting back as you feel Alexei move with you, one hand braced at your spine while thrusting against you. The heat inside of you swells, building until you can hardly breathe. And then it breaks like a dam, and you cry out, tensing and then writhing against him as the heat pulses in a clenching rhythm, steadily dying down. 

Alexei pulls back to take in your post-orgasmic state. The second he grins in satisfaction, your mouth finds his fervently. His hand cradles the back of your head, and he carefully guides you both further onto the bed. The movement makes you aware of the damp stickiness in your panties, and when your gaze flickers to the front of his pants, you see that he’s still hard. 

“Прежде чем идти дальше, я должен быть уверен, что вы тоже этого хотите.” His tone of voice sounds serious and sincere, and his eyes seem to search yours for something. 

All you know is that you’ve never wanted someone more in your entire existence. To demonstrate that, you open your arms to him, meeting his gaze with a genuine one of your own. “Please,” you whisper. 

Satisfied with your consent, Alexei smiles anew and begins shedding his own clothes. You sit up to eagerly help him unbutton and pull off each layer. At the sight of his exposed body, your mouth waters. He’s beautiful. He’s more built than you expected, certainly not scrawny the way stereotypes might peg a scientist, but with some definitely clear muscle definition. 

The tips of your fingers skim up his pectorals and across his shoulders and down his arms until you take his hands in yours and place them at the waistband of your shorts. Without preamble, he presses them down along with your panties and over the swell of your ass. You lie back down and allow him to slip them off entirely. 

Your legs are still pressed together, and it’s only when you both are entirely nude that a wave of insecurity hits you. Never before has anyone seen you like this outside of a clinical perspective. It’s a completely new sensation to be sexually desired, and to be observed so thoroughly because someone finds you attractive rather than as a specimen. No one has ever looked at you the way Alexei does now; with a hunger that you’re eager to sate, but also as if you’re a miracle he’s witnessing before him. 

When he starts to close the distance between you, he murmurs your name in a husky voice that sends a pulse ricocheting low in your stomach. His hands touch your legs, rubbing tenderly until he takes ahold of your knees and gently eases them apart. There’s no resistance from you when your legs are spread, and while he gets a good look at your vulva, you get an eyeful of his manhood. Standing at attention, nestled in a dark thatch of curls, he appears to be a very impressive size, according to your inexperienced eyes. Somehow the sight makes the muscles of yourpussy clench lightly. 

Alexei slides one of his hands down your thigh and between your legs until you feel his fingers delicately brush past the smattering of hair across your mound and outer labia. 

You watch from your position on your back, breasts rising and falling as your breathing accelerates with anticipation. The tip of one of his fingers dips between the lips and begins gliding back and forth, until he touches the area you were focused on grinding against him earlier that makes your entire body jolt, and you lash out to grip his wrist, eyes wide. 

“Так чувствительно...” He smirks down at you, wiggling his finger and brushing that little nub until you’re twitching, breathy moans escaping you in a staccato rhythm. 

It’s almost too much, and yet not enough, because you can feel that delicious pressure beginning to build again inside you. It’s almost a shame when his finger moves away because the sharp pleasure ebbs as well. His touch descends a little lower, and he makes a small pleased noise when he rubs lightly at the seam to your entrance, then pulls his hand back. The tip of his finger catches the light, glistening with a clear fluid that he presses against his thumb and pulls apart to exhibit the slippery and sticky substance of your arousal. 

Intrigued, you remain still as he returns his hand between your legs and explores the wetness smearing your labia, then delves deeper. A single finger probes your entrance gently before sliding inside, curling and rubbing until pushing another finger in. It doesn’t hurt, you’re delighted to find. Rather, the sensation of having the sensitive walls of your pussy touched is almost too good, and you find your hips rocking with increasing intensity against his fingers as they brush back and forth along something  wonderful . 

When he pulls his sodden fingers out, you hold in a disappointed whine, only to catch the sight of him lubricating his dick with your wetness. Your cheeks flare up with heat, and you watch as he closes the distance between you, situating himself between your thighs. The first contact of his erection is a brush of the shaft against your lower lips, and you tense up a little. It’s warm against you, red at the head and engorged. If a couple of his fingers felt unbearably good, how will  that feel inside of you?

“Мы пойдем так медленно, как вам нужно.”

His hand rests at your side, thumb rubbing the flesh above your ribs as he guides the head of his cock to your opening. He presses in, only to stop when you release a grunt of discomfort as the head meets a barrier. He adjusts to push his thumb lightly in tight little circles against your bud before continuing to guide his shaft further into you. There is a bit of pain, but the pleasure against your clit almost counteracts it, and you figure having orgasmed so hard the first time has made the way just about slick enough. 

You clamp your jaw, face pinching at the pain until you worry you might have to stop him from going any further. 

Then there’s a feeling of pressure, only it isn’t caused by pain any more. You feel full, and your body automatically clenches gently against the intrusion. It is  _exquisite_. 

Alexei sighs in pleasure above you, and you take in his glazed eyes. At some point he’s removed his glasses, and all you want is to see him from a smaller distance while he’s inside of you. 

“Alexei, come here,” you whisper, voice catching. Your hands grip his arms and tug until he’s carefully adjusting his position over you. His hips slot between your thighs and nestle against yours. 

“Ты чувствуешь себя невероятно, мой ангел,” he rasps. Very slowly, Alexei begins shifting his hips, watching you closely for any adverse reaction as he pulls out almost all the way, then glides back in. The slickness of your arousal eases the motions, and the only response you can give him is your face screwing up in pleasure, mouth falling open in a sensuous pout. 

It feels natural to lift your legs and rest them against his sides when he steadily increases his pace, and when his lips capture yours, your heart jumps, somehow sending a strong spark in your belly and shoving you that much closer to your peak. 

He’s found that patch inside of you once more, rubbing over it again and again until you start to quiver. You’re keening low in your throat, eyelids fluttering as you feel yourself quickly approaching that high. Distantly, you can feel yourself arching further into him, hips eagerly meeting his. 

The moment his fingers dart to touch your swollen bud, you’re done for.

A gasp breaks from your throat, and then you’re moaning loudly with abandon as your entire body erupts; sparks sizzling their way through your system, buzzing beneath your skin until you’re left squirming and twitching against him, body hot and glistening with sweat. 

Alexei grunts against your writhing, squeezing at your hips and managing a few more hard pumps before pulling out of you and releasing a thick sticky white fluid across your breasts and stomach. 

It takes a few minutes to regain your breath, but when you do, you send Alexei the brightest smile you can manage. 

He chuckles lightly and leans forward to press a tender kiss to your lips, forehead resting against yours for a moment before lowering his gaze to the mess on your torso. “Похоже, тебе понадобится еще одна ванна.” He scoots back to step off the bed, then offers you his hand. “Хотите присоединиться ко мне?” 

At the pointed glance he sends towards the bathroom, you take his hand and stand, allowing yourself to be guided inside. You could definitely do with another wash down. Especially if Alexei is joining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Вы в порядке... - Vy v poryadke... - You’re alright...  
* Что случилось? Вам удалось выключить ключ? - Chto sluchilos'? Vam udalos' vyklyuchit' klyuch? - What happened? Did you succeed in turning off the key?  
* Мы сделали. Но мы потеряли Джима. - My sdelali. No my poteryali Jim. - We did. But we lost Jim.  
* Мне жаль. - Mne zhal'. - I’m sorry.  
* Мюррей сказал, чтобы дать это тебе. - Myurrey skazal, chtoby dat' eto tebe. - Murray said to give this to you.  
* Вы невероятная женщина. Такой красивый и добрый. Я не заслуживаю знать тебя. - Vy neveroyatnaya zhenshchina. Takoy krasivyy i dobryy. YA ne zasluzhivayu znat' tebya. - You are an incredible woman. So beautiful and kind. I feel undeserving to know you.  
* Это хорошо, ангел? - Eto khorosho, angel? - Does it feel good, angel?  
* Прежде чем идти дальше, я должен быть уверен, что вы тоже этого хотите. - Prezhde chem idti dal'she, ya dolzhen byt' uveren, chto vy tozhe etogo khotite. - Before this goes further, I need to be sure that you want this too.  
* Так чувствительно... - Tak chuvstvitel'no... - So sensitive...  
* Мы пойдем так медленно, как вам нужно. - My poydem tak medlenno, kak vam nuzhno. - We’ll go as slow as you need.  
* Ты чувствуешь себя невероятно, мой ангел. - Ty chuvstvuyesh' sebya neveroyatno, moy angel. - You feel incredible, my angel.  
* Похоже, тебе понадобится еще одна ванна. Хотите присоединиться ко мне? - Pokhozhe, tebe ponadobitsya yeshche odna vanna. Khotite prisoyedinit'sya ko mne? - Looks like you’ll be needing another bath. Care to join me?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short chapter. It’s a prelude into the next stage of the story, so the upcoming ones will be longer. ✌🏽

Despite receiving a very basic sexual education in the lab when growing up, you were never given any indication of just how  sore sex can make you. It’s not painful, but there’s a definite ache between your legs. A reminder of your intense experience with Alexei. But you’re content, and perhaps more at ease than you’ve been in a while. 

After your shower with Alexei, you’ve both redressed and migrated back to the bed. This time you’re beneath the covers, snuggled on your side beside him. Your exhausted body hasn’t given you much time to bask in the glow of your sexual awakening, seeing as you’re barely able to keep your eyes open any longer. But Alexei doesn’t seem to mind, since he appears ready to drift off at any moment. 

The lights have been shut off, and the curtains have been pulled over the window, drenching the room in soft shadow. With no other distractions or disruptions for the time being, you slip easily into a light slumber, cradled in the grasp of comfort. 

*******

A heavy jolt pulls you from sleep. Blinking blearily at the ceiling, a frown pulls your eyebrows together. 

_Knock knock._

Alexei shifts beside you while you look towards the door. Confusion grips you until you peer at the clock. 12:33pm. 

Murray. 

Whipping the blanket off, you slip off of the bed and pad to the door, unlocking it before pulling it open a crack to peek an eye out. 

“Did I wake you, princess?” Murray asks sardonically, offering an amused smile as he takes in your undoubtedly messy mass of hair. 

“Yes, actually.” Stepping back, you open the door further to let him inside. 

“Мюррей?” Alexei asks from the bed, voice husked with sleep. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes before sliding on his glasses. “Что произошло?”

Murray flips on the light switch before making himself comfortable in the arm chair. “Well, I have some news. Good and bad. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Let’s get the bad out of the way.” You sigh, squinting against the abrupt onslaught of light against your eyes while crossing your arms across your chest. 

“The military and Owens’ lackeys are gonna be snooping around town for the foreseeable future to snuff out any remaining evidence of the Russian presence here. Which means that he—“ he points at Alexei “—needs to get somewhere that isn’t here, and soon.” 

You sit on the edge of the bed, nodding in understanding. It makes sense that Alexei should distance himself from Hawkins while suspicion and vigilance for any Russian foreigners in the area is so high. But where would he go? There’s really only one decent option at this point. “Can he stay with you in Indiana until this dies over?” 

Murray rubs at his forehead. “I was already considering it.” 

Alexei frowns slightly. “Что ты сейчас говоришь?”

Murray sends him an exasperated look. “Вы останетесь со мной на некоторое время.”

His frown only deepens, and he looks at you. “(Y/N) Она останется здесь?”

You hear your own name, but beyond that, all you understand is his tone: he doesn’t sound very pleased. 

“Она может прийти,” Murray replies with a roll of his eyes. “Но она должна сначала позаботиться о нескольких вещах.” He turns to address you. “I’ll take him back to Indiana. We’ll figure things out there.” He scratches his neck. “Since I figure I can’t keep you two apart, you can come by my place too, whenever you’re ready.”

It hasn’t occurred to you until now that there are still so many things you need to take care of here in Hawkins. However much you’d like to simply follow after Alexei and go wherever he goes, there’s a lot that needs fixing and discussed. The whirlwind of the last few days has left a mess in its wake, and you’re going to help clean it up however you can. 

“So, what’s the good news?” You prompt. 

“Oh right. That kid, uh,” he snaps his fingers trying to remember, “the one you saved.”

“Billy?” You supply, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Yeah, him. He’s totally fine. I think he was already sent home, actually. Though I’m not sure how long it’ll be before Owens shows up to do more tests on him.” He scratches at his beard. “That guy is really interested in your powers,” he adds quietly as an afterthought. 

“He asked for a sample of my blood.” You shudder lightly at the thought. 

“It’s probably a good call that you didn’t give any to him.” 

“How so?” You know you have your reasons for denying Dr. Owens his request for a sample of your blood, but hearing Murray agree makes you curious to hear his reasoning. 

“Owens may not be the worst of who is left from the lab, but he still has an agenda. Undoubtedly. People like him always have an agenda. And if he wants to study what you have that badly, a small blood sample just might not be enough. Or it might be exactly enough.” He shrugs in a lackadaisical way that seems almost contradictory to his words. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell. But always keep that card close to your chest. Don’t let it go if you can help it.” 

Silently, you nod, a little shaken by his insight. You don’t plan on ever supplying anyone with any part of you again, but when put that way, like you and your abilities are a potential bargaining chip, more options open up. 

Pieces of yourself being ripped from you and studied is much different than, say, simply demonstrating your abilities, your potential, to be discussed and examined. This is a little alternative you decide to place in your back pocket. Maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards right, everyone can get what they want without anyone else getting hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Мюррей? Что произошло? - Myurrey? Chto proizoshlo? - Murray? What has happened?   
* Что ты сейчас говоришь? - Chto ty seychas govorish'? - What are you saying now?  
* Вы останетесь со мной на некоторое время. - Vy ostanetes' so mnoy na nekotoroye vremya. - You’ll be staying with me for a while.   
* (Y/N) останется здесь? - (Y/N) ostanetsya zdes'? - (Y/N) will stay here?  
* Она может прийти. Но она должна сначала позаботиться о нескольких вещах. - Ona mozhet priyti. No ona dolzhna snachala pozabotit'sya o neskol'kikh veshchakh. - She can come. But she has to take care of a few things here first.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the wait, guys! I’ve been all over the place lately, but I’m grateful for your patience!

The afternoon passes quickly, and before you know it, you’re saying goodbye to Alexei. The separation shouldn’t be for too long, and he knows this, but you wish you were capable of articulating the connection you feel to him, and how being far apart will, to put it mildly, suck. 

Whatever this is that is developing between you both has a lot of potential. Seeing as it has already presented feelings and desires you’ve never felt before, you’ve pondered what else the relationship might cultivate if you foster it. And the possibilities excite you. And they terrify you. 

“Не торопись здесь. Пожалуйста, не торопись на мой счет.” Alexei brushes his fingers against your cheek and pushes them through your hair until the palm of his hand tenderly cups the nape of your neck.

A bittersweet smile pulls at your lips while you grasp his wrist. “I’ll see you soon.” You push to your toes while tugging lightly at his arm to pull his mouth to meet your own. 

“Alright, let’s—“ Murray steps through the doorway of the motel room and immediately twists around to face the other direction at the sight of you both. “Jesus. Would have thought that you both had plenty of time to get all that out of your system.” He clears his throat loudly. “Are you done?” 

After separating, you cast a weak glare at the man while Alexei snarks, “Вы могли бы постучать.” 

Murray spins back around to scowl at him, pointing an accusatory finger. “Hey, я пытаюсь тебе помочь, приятель.” The finger moves to direct at you. “Remember, I’m doing this all for free.” 

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “Just admit you care.” Your own finger rises to place over your lips. “We won’t tell anyone. Promise.” 

Murray’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Uh huh.” His head jerks behind him. “We’ve gotta get going.” He looks at Alexei. “Поехали. Скоро ты увидишь любовь своей леди.”

Alexei gives him a deadpan glare before he returns his gaze to you. “До скорой встречи.” While he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, Murray mutters while rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, “Yes, yes. You’ll see her soon. У нее есть дела, и мы тоже.” 

Alexei finally steps away and delivers one more achingly sweet smile before walking out the door in front of Murray. You offer a wave of your own before looking at the other man. “See you in a couple weeks then.” 

“Yup. You know where we’ll be. And if that somehow changes due to some unforeseen circumstance, we’ll be in touch.” Murray gives you a quick salute before walking to the taxi idling in the parking lot. He slides in beside Alexei who peers around him to get a last lingering look at you, and when the door shuts, they’re off, disappearing around the corner. 

You stand in the doorway for a few moments longer before fetching your bag to pull over your shoulders and beginning the trek home. 

*******

All is quiet when you step inside the Byers house. At first you wonder if everyone is still asleep, still weary and drained from the events of the past few days, but when you walk into the kitchen, you see Joyce sitting on the floor, back against the wall. Her head is lowered, but when she hears you enter she lifts it slightly to acknowledge you with a small watery smile that seems all too forced. It sends a heavy pang between your ribs. The phone is lying in her lap, slightly elevated by its spiraled cord still connected to the cradle mounted to the wall. She’s been making calls. 

A frown tugs heavily at your features, and you drop your bag onto the table before lowering to your knees next to her. “Joyce?” You keep your voice low. 

Her gaze meets yours, and you can tell she’s been crying. Eyes red and slightly swollen. “I tried to call Hop’s folks. His family.” Tried. Did no one answer? You swallow back a pinch in the back of your throat as you position yourself to sit next to her. 

“Have you slept yet?” 

Joyce purses her lips wordlessly, eyes falling back to the phone perched precariously on her leg. Finally, she shakes her head. An ache expands in the region around your heart as guilt roils through you. How long has she been sitting here alone? You figure the kids are asleep if they’re not out here. But you could have been here with her. Should you have been? 

“Will you try to rest a little?” You ask softly. 

“I can’t sleep,” she replies, voice timid and quiet and quite unlike her. “Every time I close my eyes I see—“ She inhales sharply, adamantly shaking her head. 

Joyce saw Hopper die, you realize with blunt horror. Actually witnessed it. You can’t possibly imagine how she feels right now. She’s lost her best friend. What can you do? What can you possibly do or say that can help? 

“Do you need time alone?” You offer. “Or we can talk? About anything you want.” 

She swipes the back of her hand over her nose. “Can we just sit like this for a little bit?” 

You nod while scooting closer. “Sure. Of course.” Your arm presses lightly to hers before you lean your own back against the wall and slide down until you can rest your head on her shoulder. 

When her head settles gently on top of yours, Joyce releases a shuddering sigh. Her hand finds yours and grips it. And there you both sit on the kitchen floor, saying nothing in each other’s company in the quiet hum of the house. 

*******

Breakfast for dinner is the meal you suggest and begin to make when Will and El finally emerge from their rooms. Both of them look marginally better than Joyce after getting some shut-eye, but evidence of residual stress remains in the heaviness of their posture and sullenness of their expressions. 

They both take a seat at the table while you place a plate of fresh French toast before them in the middle. You set plates and utensils in a pile before sitting as well. No one reaches for the food. The bleak atmosphere is like a physical weight that descends upon the house. It’s almost stifling, suffocating. And you want to give into it, to sink into the despair, but you can’t grieve this way while also knowing your family is hurting so much. Not to mention, Hopper would be pissed if he knew the kind of hopeless depression everyone was edging towards. He deserves better. They ought to know that. 

“We have to talk about what happened,” you state plainly, elbows resting on the table before you.

El looks at you, frowning lightly. “Maybe we don’t want to.” 

“So what, then? We act like it didn’t happen at all?” 

Her expression turns accusatory. “Are we not allowed to be sad? Some people just don’t want to talk when they’re sad. Right now we’re sad. Maybe we don’t want to talk.” An edge of distress makes her voice sound tight. 

You place a placating hand across the table to rest on hers. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just mean, getting it all out in the open might, I don’t know, bring some closure. Everyone is miserable right now, and maybe talking about it will help to ease the pain a tiny bit.” Or perhaps it will just help lessen the guilt you feel for not being there when they needed you. If you were stronger and more in tune with your abilities, could Hopper’s death have been avoided? Would everyone else agree? 

“Hopper knew the dangers,” Joyce speaks up. She’s gotten up from the floor and now leans agains the counter nursing a cup of tea. “We all know he would have done anything to put an end to this.” She gives El a meaningful look. 

Your sister lowers her eyes to her wrist. To the bracelet encircling it. The one Hopper gave her. “I miss him.” 

You nod consolingly while scooting closer to her, and place a comforting arm around her shoulders. El twists in her seat to press her face into your neck, and when you feel her trembling lightly you tighten your hold, wrapping her up in your other arm until she’s cradled against you. 

Will watches you both with red-rimmed eyes, and you wordlessly offer a hand to him. He stares at it for a moment before placing his hand in yours and allowing himself to be coaxed over where you pull him into the hug. He gently presses his cheek on top of El’s head where he stands, and she frees her arm from between you both to find his hand and take it in her own. 

When your gaze manages to catch Joyce’s over their heads and you notice the heavy glossiness in her eyes, the tears that burn in your own break free and crest down your cheeks. 

The pain of loss can be agonizing, and at times unbearable, but being surrounded by loved ones can help ease it if permitted; that’s something you gradually learned after escaping the lab. You know that El feels especially anguished—perhaps even responsible somehow, and knowing that she hurts and not knowing how to stop it frustrates you until an ache weighs heavy in your chest. 

It will take time. Possibly a very long time. But you’ll all get through this together. It might require some big changes, some adjustments and then some readjustments, and a lot of getting things off your chests, but, gradually, you all will start to move forward again. Continue living, the way Hopper would want. And eventually, everyone will begin to heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Не торопись здесь. Пожалуйста, не торопись на мой счет. - Ne toropis' zdes'. Pozhaluysta, ne toropis' na moy schet. - Take your time here. Please don’t rush yourself on my account.   
* Вы могли бы постучать. - Vy mogli by postuchat'. - You could have knocked.   
* Я пытаюсь тебе помочь, приятель. - YA pytayus' pomoch' tebe, priyatel'. - I’m just trying to help, pal.   
* Поехали. Скоро ты увидишь любовь своей леди. - Poyekhali. Skoro ty uvidish' lyubov' svoyey ledi. - Let’s go. You’ll see your lady love soon.   
* До скорой встречи. - Do skoroy vstrechi. - See you soon.   
* У нее есть дела, и мы тоже. - U neye yest' dela, i my tozhe. - She has things to do, and so do we.


End file.
